No, it's not perfect
Sometimes I wish I didn’t have feelings. I wish I was a 1950s dude, in a smart suit and tie with slicked-back hair and a robotic detachment from the feelings of others and myself. Out there doing whatever the fuck I want to and forcing the world to deal with the consequences. Letting it all build up until the repression and sociopathy boil over and I scream and tear a hole in the wall or rob a bank or buy a car I can’t afford and run to another country and assume a new identity and no one will ever find me because it’s 1950 and it’s still hard to track people down.
But I don’t really want that. I want to have feelings and not repress them. I want it to hurt sometimes and be confusing and scary. I like my life.
Even when it hurts. I can still find gratitude in those moments. I can still be happy I’m me.