I'm very disappointed in myself. I don't know how I allowed myself to crawl back inside the darkest parts of my brain to rot and fester, to mull over the "what-ifs", the "why-me's", the insecurities. I feel absolutely retched and pathetic. I know very well that throughout my entire life the only thing ever standing in my way was myself. And yet can I manage to change? No.
Well, not entirely true. I have made changes but they rarely stick and I too easily give up. I've been told I have no drive and it's true.
I feel like the scourge of the earth that's somehow managed to slip through the cracks to live amongst those who really try, who really struggle and then through those struggles make something of themselves. They use their strengths they have gained and truly succeed out of sheer will.
But that's not me.
I sit here with my first-world-problems. Everything before me that I need: food, shelter, warmth. Yet what am I doing? Crying about myself and my shortcomings while everyone around me seems so multidimensional and alive. I am an empty shell. I was always empty. I often have the feeling of something missing but it was never there.
How am I even still here? How did I slip through the cracks? There have been plenty of opportunities to die. But why didn't it happen? Most would take this as a valuable priceless lesson and never look back. They would feel blessed and lucky and use this experience to scale proverbial mountains and skyrocket themselves to greater heights. But I keep myself low. I keep myself down in the muck and the slime where I feel I belong.