It seems second nature for me to worry all the time.Maybe first nature actually. Apprehension and anxiety. Thinking way too much and not saying or doing enough. It is such bullshit. I am so tired of trying to deal with it that I have run out of ways of tryng to explain it.
It makes me morose and unhappy. More so than I have any right to be. I mean, everybody has some level of unhappiness in their life. Everyone is screwed up in some way. To err is to be human. Right? We all have our own issues. Everybody has something to conplain about.
I need to remind myself (more) that I have plenty to be happy about. I have myself, first and foremost, and my (believed) sanity. I have a family that loves me no matter what. I have a small handfull of friends that (I believe) except and appreciate me. I have a roommate who is quite possibly one of the most awesome people I’ve ever met. I have my freedom and my desires and wishes and goals. I have a life free of life threatening hardships. As far as I know I have my health. I have many many good things in my life to be thankful for and happy about.
No, I don’t have everything. No, I have not accomplished much of what I wanted to by my age. No, life isn’t perfect. No, everything does not go according to plan. No, I can’t and should not and will not except that falling is a means to judge myself. I ought to know better by now. I have certainly fallen enough, and continue to.
I’m alive. I can do. I can still try. And strive. I can do better. I have opportunity. There is hope. And possibility. Not all is lost.
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