I see myself as "someone who tries." I try to please, but of course I never succeed.
I invite my own unhappiness because it's evidence for the other that I'm trying. Behind "I'm so good that it hurts" lies: "I'm trying to be good. Don't you see how hard it is. Be patient with me."
From this, a will to failure that often--except in sex-- my talents frustrate. So then I devalue my successes (fellowships, the novel, jobs). These become unreal to me. I feel I am masquerading, pretending.
Susan Sontag
