People admire my work, my accomplishments, my capabilities. I'm popular, athletic, smart, good looking. People consider me a Renaissance man because I have an extraordinarily broad skill set and I tend to be exceptional at everything that I do, and yet I have wandered throughout my adult life never satisfied with the path I had chosen because Good is not Good Enough, Good Enough is not Excellence, and Excellence is not World Class. Life has always been a new path of improvement, a new set of disciplines to learn. ... ...Right now I'm sounding like a prideful, self centered, arrogant asshole, but the truth is far more complicated than that. I'm not at all being hyperbolic, and yet I hate myself. It is incredibly painful to have so much to be grateful for and yet be so incredibly broken. I take more medications than most senior citizens. I am terminally ill and will die a slow and painful death if I cease taking some of them. My mind is well into what most people call "damaged" at best, and "bat shit insane" at worst. I have been diagnosed with Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder, Bipolar Manic/Depression, and Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. I hate to admit it, but I might very well also be codependent. I medicate and medicate and medicate, I fight damn hard to resist the selfish lure of suicide, and I never stop trying to succeed, but nothing I do, nothing I swallow has been the panacea to give me a sense of stability that I desperately hope for. But maybe, just maybe, I'm supposed to be this way.