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I spent the first 25 years of my life being told what to do & who to be (or, perhaps more precisely, manipulated into it).

Even as horribly as that went (and as well as things have gone since I started making my own choices, however blindly), I still find myself at the occasional 4am wishing someone would just tell me what this is all about. As miserable as I was, at least I was *good* at it. I was — and am — so very good at doing what I’m told. Even when it’s not something I want to do, there’s a twisted satisfaction in doing it and doing it well.

Whenever I find myself wishing for that external “here’s your purpose,” I have to talk to myself like I’m a child, to unlearn that habit of doing what I’m told just because I want to be a good girl.

It doesn’t help me get back to sleep but it does help me stay in the moment. And as far as I can tell, that’s the only purpose I’ve got.

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