And finally I twist my heart round again, so that the bad is on the outside and the good is on the inside, and keep on trying to find a way of becoming what I would so like to be, and could be, if there weren't any other people living in the world.

...And keep on trying to find a way of becoming what I would so like to be, and what I could be, if... there weren't any other people living in the world.

That is why I write - to try to turn sadness into longing, solitude into remembrance.

I just sought a way to be someone I wasn't. To be loved.

The thought of this could sometimes weigh me down because I wanted so much to be someone. I wanted so much to be special.

Sometimes, I feel like I can do anything, and, sometimes, I'm so alive, sometimes, I feel like I could zoom across the sky and, sometimes, I wanna cry.

This is who I want to be in the world. This is who I think we are supposed to be, people who help call forth human beings from deep inside hopelessness.

And besides, I like to cry. After I cry hard it's like it's morning again and I'm starting the day over.

"The question we should be asking ourselves is: "Who do I need to become?

Alas! I always loved sorrow and tribulation, but only for myself, for myself; but I wept over them, pitying them. I stretched out my hands to them in despair, blaming, cursing and despising myself. I told them that all this was my doing, mine alone; that it was I had brought them corruption, contamination and falsity. I besought them to crucify me, I taught them how to make a cross. I could not kill myself, I had not the strength, but I wanted to suffer at their hands. I yearned for suffering, I longed that my blood should be drained to the last drop in these agonies. But they only laughed at me, and began at last to look upon me as crazy. They justified me, they declared that they had only got what they wanted themselves, and that all that now was could not have been otherwise. At last they declared to me that I was becoming dangerous and that they should lock me up in a madhouse if I did not hold my tongue. Then such grief took possession of my soul that my heart was wrung, and I felt as though I were dying; and then . . . then I awoke.

Why else do any of this if not to become who we want to be?

Imagine, I might really become somebody. Someday.

I don't want you to become sad, I still live somewhere else, where you can't see me and can't hear me, but I will see you and know how you are. And I will wait for you until you come to me. Everybody has his time and will move sometime.

Your desire is not to become someone else, but to be more thoroughly yourself, realizing your true potential. You see your character as the clay that you will work with, slowly transforming your very weaknesses into strengths.