My late mother was the first among a big list of people in trying to make me doubt myself. I know that unlike the rest she didn't mean to hurt me, she had my whole trust, so she succeeded to some extent, at least during the twenty seven years it took me to consolidate (for better or worse) my personality.
Along my childhood, instead of letting me spend my free time reading or being lost in my thoughts in consonance with my introspective temperament she pushed me to be sociable, nice, among other practices unnatural to me. She drove me to pay attention to others, not just to watch their gestures but to understand them. Her final blow was to instill a deep cult of friendship in me. My blood and honest nature put its part; I could've saved time, been successful in whatever I'd put my effort if my mother hadn't pushed me out of myself, extrapolating me, making me lose all possible innocences. I could have felt myself fulfilled, I could have been happy… Instead, I got the selfsame One-Way Ticket to Nowhere, I got my consciousness.