sarahmariet

I am Sarah, people call me Sarah Sunshine because I am so disgustingly cheery no matter how hungover, upset, scared, or anxious I am. I wear my heart on my sleeve and always tell people way more than they cared to know. I have full blown ADHD, anxiety, and abandonment issues, and even on my worst days, I love every one of those disorders because they make me who I am. I am always changing my mind about what I like and dislike, what my favorite color is, and what I want to be when I grow up. Stability has never been part of my life, and I'm happy to say probably never will be...it's boring anyway. I just moved 300 miles away from the only place I've known, and so far I love it. I started a new job too, and so far, I love that. I'm obsessed with makeup, and hair, and freelance a lot of my own work. I don't claim to be superb at it, it's just my thing. I also am a hardcore gamer, eyeliner and xbox are part of my daily regime. I've learned to not judge, something that's hard to do, because we are human and all have impressions and opinions, but I know first hand how much it hurts to be judged, and have made it my first hand goal to never do that other people. Everyone says ''Oh, I don't judge'' while looking you up and down and judging you....I don't...and that's something I'm proud of. I think my life is a lot like Wonderland, falls into rabbit holes, always being late, and trying to keep my head attached, that's probably why I'm so addicted to the crazy mind of Lewis Caroll. Who am I? They often tell me I stepped from my cell’s confinement Calmly, cheerfully, firmly, Like a squire from his country-house. Who am I? They often tell me I used to speak to my warders Freely and friendly and clearly, As though it were mine to command. Who am I? They also tell me I bore the days of misfortune Equally, smilingly, proudly, Like one accustomed to win. Am I then really all that which other men tell of? Or am I only what I myself know of myself? Restless and longing and sick, like a bird in a cage, Struggling for breath, as though hands were compressing my throat, Yearning for colors, for flowers, for the voices of birds, Thirsting for words of kindness, for neighborliness, Tossing in expectation of great events, Powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance, Weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making, Faint, and ready to say farewell to it all? Who am I? This or the other? Am I one person today and tomorrow another? Am I both at once? A hypocrite before others, And before myself a contemptibly woebegone weakling? Or is something within me still like a beaten army, Fleeing in disorder from victory already achieved? Who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine. Whoever I am, Thou knowest, 0 God, I am Thine! March 4,1946-Anonymous

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