Are you pondering what I'm pondering?

I keep thinking, predicting, expecting. What, you ask?

If I am the same person in mind. What expression would appear when we meet for the first time. Would it be happiness? Indifference? Disgust? It kills me sometimes to think. Because it invariably leads me to the worst. It keeps me real, I say to myself. But does it?

Is my judgment on society's judgment on me a fact or a self-fulfilling prophecy? They say I have a low self esteem and poor confidence in myself. Being who I am... It's easy to be sometimes. Those who aren't... They're as insecure as I am, as anyone.

The difference? They have a shield. A shield that protects them. It gives them comfortable protection from vicious enemies, but more importantly... from the inner rot that is themselves. Perhaps I will find mine one day?

But you already have, you might say, you don't seem as bad as you say you are. That's because what I hold in my hand is not a shield... but a sword. A sword forged as a child, and regularly sharpened as a teenager. It protects me all the same... but it cuts the people around me. And when it does, they disappear... one by one, except those who have seen me use my sword often enough to know my moves, and know that my sword has a mind of its own.

The sword which, when provoked, will one day turn back and cut me down.