Reality check time..

So it seems I have a chronic problem, one among many, but I tend to underestimate how much people care about me..  And I guess it goes beyond that to the point where I underestimate the fact that people care about me at all..  It is beyond my comprehension that a person would want to invest time, energy, and love into a waste of space like me..  And I’m not saying that to be dramatic, I just don’t get it..  For whatever reason, be it mental illness or years upon years of debasing self-talk, I don’t feel worthy of people’s affection..  I always feel like my presence is putting someone off or is an inconvenience in some way..  I feel guilty for asking people to go out of their way specifically for me..

I don’t think I’ve ever felt like my “needs” were more important than or should be put above someone else’s..  I’m not trying to make myself look good and say I’m selfless, I’m saying I’m unimportant..  I’m more of an aside or afterthought type person than a number one..  I don’t deserve to be anybody’s number one concern..

I know I’m always reiterating how I feel like people aren’t destined for anything in particular and then in the next sentence I’ll, basically, say that I’m “destined” to be unwed, unloved, and alone..  It’s how I always am, I guess; holding people up to standards or rules that are different than the ones I hold myself up against..  Saying people aren’t bound by “destiny”, but that I am..  It doesn’t make sense..  The standards I hold myself to are different than those I hold others to..  They are afforded mistakes and failures, while I am not; and when I make a mistake I’m the dumbest person alive..  That’s what I tell myself, that’s my thought process and how my mind works..  It’s not just words, it’s a belief – I am the dumbest or ugliest or most awkward or whatever..  In my mind and in my heart it’s true..


I’ve been told I have a way with words, or something to that effect, but I’m not so sure..  Once-upon-a-time I wanted to be a writer (think C.S. Lewis or J.R.R. Tolkien), but I grew up and realized dreams don’t come true, real life happens instead..  I wouldn’t have the mental acuity or clarity of mind to even be able to get through college courses, so how would I even learn how to write? There’s more than passion involved in “making dreams come true”..  Besides, only a handful of people ever achieve what they would describe as their dream or purpose..  I don’t have the smarts or follow-through..  I don’t feel like I’d be able to stay in it for the long haul, not that the desire wouldn’t be there, but that the reality of my actual capabilities would become glaringly obvious, if they weren’t in the first place, and I’d not have the perseverance to stick it out, especially since I know that everything I’d write would be a big flop anyways, even if I did somehow get through additional schooling and writing and refining and then to the point of submission for publication..

And yes, I’ve given it some thought..  I think about a lot of things..  Deep things, dark things..  I think of what might have been, if there are any what-could-be’s..  It always comes back around to me not having much hope for a bright future..  People are always saying things like “life is what you make it” or the whole lemons to lemonade crap, and I’d say that generally that’s possible for people, but I’m not most people, I’m not anybody else or like anybody else..  I guess that might be the sort of double standard thing I’ve got going on, but I just don’t see myself capable of doing anything with my life or of even pursuing my once passion, because the only thing I can be passionate about right now is survival..  That’s what life is for me, day in and day out..  I focus on minute to minute survival..  Do I sometimes feel like I’m too much of a burden to those around me?  Hell yeah, a lot of the time actually..  Do I feel they’re wasting time concerning themselves with me?  Sometimes..  I’m not worth it, I don’t have enough redeeming qualities to make up for their energy put into me..  I question how they could possibly get anything positive out of spending time with me when I’m always so negative and depressed..  I feel like I’m always complaining, or I’m perceived to always be complaining..  I see myself as a jaded, unloveable person, who has been naive in allowing any hope in her heart at all..  There’s no room for it there, it only leads to heartbreak, devastation, and disappointment..

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