Worthy

A man's struggle with self-worth and self-dedication. Not really meant to be anything more than a journal entry, but it feels like something I want out there, despite the lack of literary creativity.

Self worth. Something which I struggle with on a daily basis. It is my single greatest weakness. Conciously I know that I'm a good man overall. I've made plenty of mistakes, things I regret, but at the end of the day I'm a loyal friend, a good brother, a good son, a kind ear, a good conversationalist... But it all falls away into nothingness the moment I try to think of those things in a self-promoting light.

I smile largely. I shine in a crowd when I try. But when the friends go home and the lights go down all I feel is a crushing despair. Not self loathing. Not anymore, anyway. I used to feel that regularly. And by regularly I mean constantly. But no. My friends in Portland have pulled me out of that particular pit. I seem to have tripped down a side tunnel and down into a shallower pit, however.

The only aspect of myself I truly appreciate is my writing ability. But even this is tainted with a sort of selfish disgust. Self worth. I reach for things, but right before I grasp them I pause, decide that I am unworthy, and then retract my grip, shoulders slumping and head nodding down to my hollow chest.

I apply for jobs, thinking all the while that there are single parents and desperate people with mortgages who deserve it so much more than me, a kid with no education to speak of and hasn't had a real, legit job in his life. But I can't really say kid anymore. I'm a deadbeat adult at this point. Another year and I can legally drink. Something which scares me a bit, as I don't need that kind of temptation when I battle depression so often.

I want to be a published author more than anything else. I wrote a full-length novel last year, and yet I still haven't written any synopsies for it, the last step before sending it off too agents and publishers. Every time I start to I just... Don't. It's not even concious. In the moment I just get distracted, and allow myself to be easily distracted. Later I see that I'm protecting myself in a way, not allowing myself to be rejected. Because writing is the last thing I have. If it turns out I suck at it, what else is there? I know I'm not worthy of the lifestyle anyway.

My latest failure is my bass. I have wanted a musical instrument for years, especially lately with all of my musician friends. I want to be a musician, at least to a certain extent, so badly. My friends inspire me so much to pursue that path. I want it. I want it too much. My fear, my lack of self worth, seems to be keeping me from practicing. I pick it up, look at it, strum it. I read the books, then get distracted with some minor thing like someone popped up on FaceBook. I know I can be more disciplined. I'm the king of discipline when it comes to mindless labor or crappy jobs. But I just... Don't.

It all started about a year and a half ago when a woman I loved more than I ever thought possible decided one day that she didn't love me, and left me abruptly. I won't go into details here, for reasons of both pain and repetition, I've spoken of it often. But when this happened I thought back on all of my relationships: James, Bradley, Beau, Sara, the Samander Family, Koral, all of my friends in Ridgefield (about five or six best left catagorized)... Every one of them eventually rejected and left me. All of them, to a one, every one of my friends. Gone. They found me unworthy, and left because of it.

My new friends, my new family, are a part of me. I've never felt so close to anyone, several in particular, one in particular, as all things go. But all of them are precious to me. And I await that time to come when they find me unworthy and leave me behind. Part of me, a large part of me, wants to flee before they do so. To move down to Austin with my brothers and start a new life there. Work is aplenty there, music is the city's lifeblood, there are plenty of lovely people. If I can head off the seemingly inevitable rejection perhaps I can save what little is left of my self worth.

But I know, conciously, realistically, that my friends won't do that to me. That leaving them would be the most foolish thing I could ever do. But if my friends did decide one day that I was just a leech, a parasite tagging along with a group of such lovely human beings, I would be beyond crushed. I would be beyond shattered.

It's a funny thing, really. I feel unworthy to be a part of society, so I don't even try to raise my contribution to it. I'm humiliated at my lack of education, struggling with even basic math. Every time a check comes I groan inwardly, knowing that I'll just embarass myself. And I do. Without fail.

I know I deserve love, really. In one way or another everyone deserves love. But I looked myself in the mirror just last month and grinned at myself. A feral grin. It scared me a bit. I realized I hadn't looked in the mirror in a long time. I used to make it a point to look into the mirror and smile at myself comfortingly. But not anymore, apparently. I moved forward and leaned in to get a closer look at the man in the mirror. I studied myself carefully. My cold eyes. My set jaw. My mouth which seems to curve slightly downward at the corners when it's in it's neutral posistion. I looked at myself for several minutes, then a phrase came to mind, which then spilled out from my mouth without me really thinking about it. Or it tried to anyway. The phrase was "You are a good, worthy man." Before the word "you" had fully escaped my lips my throat seized and clamped shut. I blinked in surprise and drew in a sharp breath. I steadied myself and tried again. I managed to get part of it out before having to stop again. The third time I was able to actually say it, but it lacked conviction, and my eyes and brow were scrunched up in disgust.

I was shocked at this revelation. I didn't realize I felt that horribly about myself. But I really didn't feel worthy. I would text my friends to ask to hang out and most of them would ignore me. Those who didn't were busy. They all had lives of their own, I didn't blame them in the least. But when you text people you consider to be family on a regular basis trying to socialize and after weeks and weeks they never even reply, you begin to wonder just how far outside you really are, looking into a group you're not even on the same level as.

Thing have been way better this past month and a half or so. I met a wonderful friend who when I'm with her I do feel worthy. I feel worthy and capable of great things. They are so unjudging, so understanding. When I text, they answer. When I want to hang out, they make it work, find a slot in their calender. They even call me to set up hanging out. This has raised my confidence and self worth considerably. But the shame and lack of drive still remains for the most part.

I hate weakness. When I see it in others I feel an almost physical disgust. I don't respect them at all. I shake my head and curl my lip, then turn on my heel.

To see weakness in such abundance within myself is a hideously telling thing.

Author's Note

I didn't really write this to be good writing, it just flowed out.