When will I?

I go where I’m pulled, and I’m pulled to a place where I feel so low. 

I don’t fight for my voice, and I say what you want me to say. 

I do everything with my heart on my sleeve, even if everything means nothing to me. 

I’d betray my values, my wants, and even my safety to give someone what they want or need. 

I let people take advantage of my kindness even when I know they don’t have my best interest at heart. 

I question my desires, my needs, my wants, my intentions until I come apart. 

I’m not who I want to be, I’m just everything everyone else wants me to be. 

I’m so freaking weary. 

When will I snatch that pen back and start to write my own life story?