Stripped of my fire

I have already lost my life 
to the not-knowing. 
Twenty-five years of time 
spent, wondering. 
Twenty-five years of time 
digging a hole within myself - 
trying to make my existing, 
my presence,
simultaneously more and less. 

Now that I know - 
well, I have to fix everything. 
I have to set things right, 
heal the wounds of present and past, 
while finding a way forward 
through the chasm of doubt. 
I have to knit from a rotted yarn 
a life that looks as if 
I had known all along 
that I wasn't made wrong,
just different. 

So pardon me for being impatient, 
frustrated, angry, hopeless. 
Pardon my inability to cope. 
Your demands, incessant, 
have made sure 
to strip me of my fire. 
I am but a shell, 
wherein hide echoes 
of passions unspent. 

Now leave me alone - 
I want to try to be my self.