I’m struggling with self-worth today, which has been an ongoing theme for a while. I have roles to play which are important to people – my role as a father, a husband, a cog in the machine at work – but the value of these roles isn’t a value of me, but the function I fulfill.
There are people – good people – who care, who understand, but they have their lives. I’m not valuable to them, beyond my role as a fellow human and to some, a friend. I worry about overstepping and scaring them away. I don’t want to be a burden, or more trouble than my role as a friend is worth. I don’t want to be toxic. So I’m careful what I say. I hold much back, because their value to me is enormous. They are my tethers to the world I know. They keep me from the other world I’ve only glimpsed, the world which scares me.
There’s this rolling pit of snakes where my stomach should be. I’m alone in a battle nobody can see. I’m back where I was at sixteen, when I wanted nothing more than to be valued by someone. To have a connection.
Everything I do is empty and pointless. It’s just surviving. Paying the bills. Marking time. I have no impact on anyone. Nobody is better off because of me. No victories are celebrated, not even by me. There isn’t time. And I can’t get excited anymore anyway.