reibureibu’s review published on Letterboxd:
We can't help but feel like the worst person in the world. Not to our friends necessarily, or our families for that matter, or even to the one(s) we share a bed with, but to ourselves. Decisions we made that we can't really call 'self-destructive', that's not quite it, but destroys our lives anyways. Destroys what we've built the last few years of our lives, and with no idea of how we'll survive after. Why do we do this to ourselves?
You're not sure what's wrong, but you know something is wrong. You probably knew it going in, that it wouldn't work out, that it would always end up this way, but it's just what life pushed you towards. Is life supposed to be this flat, this stale? Is that really so bad? You're starting to think it is. You're starting to want to be the worst person in the world. At least then you'll know something is wrong.
I love you, and I don't love you. I'm happy, and I'm not. Is this any way to live? I really wish it was, then I wouldn't have to be the worst person to myself. I wouldn't have to throw away everything just to chase the possibility of "true" happiness, if that even exists or if I'm just pretending it does in whatever happens to catch my eye. At this point I'm not sure if they're even different things.
We / you / I, the worst person in the world. That's just part of life.
