This is a poem I wrote a few years back. It describes very well how I felt and often still feel about myself: Un-me.

Tired and lonely,
seeking a hideaway.
What I’d give to be
the better version of me
that is Her.

Grace, elegance, poise -
None of which I possess
haunt me to a state of despair,
the noises under the glare
of the lack of attention.

I’m in control?
Or maybe I’m not?
The drug I use to regulate
hurts with the daily hate
of a lack of will power.

I’m sorry I’m not who I am –
Who I want to be.
Which is anyone other than
Nice, calm, reliable and above all,
Good old me.