Every time I see something beautiful, I want to be the one who made it. I want to write as well as that person, or draw as well as this person. I want to have made that dress, or bought that car. I want to own the beauty, make it mine.

Never mind that these people I envy have been working at it longer than I have. Never mind the trials they've had to endure for their craft—all the aching pain they've had to go through to learn a lesson that would make them better.

I don't see any of that, so it doesn't matter. All I see is their success. And every time I fail, you'll never see it either.

I want it now, right in front of me, mine. But it isn't. It can never be, so I cry myself to sleep and wonder when my time will come. It isn't enough to just be good. I want to be the best—the greatest of the greatest. The brightest star in the entire universe. The universes.

But I'm not.
I never should be.

It's the most selfish thing I could ever want. I know it. I'm sick. I am disgusting. I don't know why you are even listening.

But, if you decide to stay, just let me say one thing;

If you are human (and I presume you are), you have had aches inside you, longings you can't explain. Maybe they have been met, maybe they haven't. Mine haven't.

I'm selfish, power-hungry—call me what you will. You're right.

I'm completely, utterly lost in my own misery. A pathetic, worthless excuse. Why they even bothered to try using me, I don't know. I sound as convincing as "the dog ate my homework." I am useless. A nobody.
But I try.
Oh, how hard I try!

But it will never be good enough. There will always be someone better, someone wiser, someone prettier than myself. They will always have a better formula, or a bigger canvas.

I'm a basket case. A disease. A medical failure. But I'm not new. Though I feel that I am the only person that could ever feel this way, I know I'm not alone. It would be ignorant to believe that, and oh, how I hate to be ignorant!
And yet, with the small reserve of what little selflessness is still in me, I wish I were the only one. Then I would be the only one suffering. The only one to feel so useless. Cowardly. Ugly.

I want it. I want it. I want it. I want it.

Please, don't stay any longer. I'll corrupt you. I'll make you miserable, like me—and no, I don't want the company. It's bad enough you have to put up with me. Please don't become me.

I'm sorry. I wish I could help it.

I'm sorry…