Another night, winding down, where I’m plagued by feelings of emptiness. *sigh*
I do not want to have to talk down the various thoughts of self-harm and self-Pity... I do not want to have these feelings, to begin with...
A friend often says, “if you want self-esteem, do esteemable acts”...
...but I think my problem is rooted in an over-abundance of my own feelings of envy: “I stare at the empty cupboard, made all the more bare when contrasted with others’ over-flowing pantries”
(But it’s not just food envy or money envy or sex envy... it’s a whole spectrum of perceived deficiencies bearing down and making me feel so worthless)
How is my life a success, by any measures? Why do I try to delude myself into thinking that it’s anything better than an uncertain survival mode?
(I feel like that meme, with the guy at the desk in his yard, with the sign “convince me”. I just do not see evidence that my life is valued, most of all by me... and that’s a half-truth, if I go digging around in past interactions...)
At which point, I end the rant, to try to hide from this wave of hysteria through sleep, surrounded by crickets...
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