detachment

It seems that all I've ever done throughout life was dissociate just to get by... detaching from situations that breed anxiety; detaching from people and relationships that cause me anxiety. But it only gets you so far and does so much. There will always be a zenith from which you fall headlong into the craggy rocks below. You don't realize what you've lost during those times of detachment; the people and experiences that should have mattered to you were never truly appreciated as they should have been. More importantly, the lessons meant to be learned became nothing more than blurred scenery.

It's only when you land, that you feel the true weight of all that was ignored crushing down upon your body. You can cry, throw things, break things, break yourself... but none of it will be enough to quell the frustration and regret running wild inside you.

There are indeed "better" ways of living life, but those require time and effort... and most of all, feeling worth that time and effort. That is something I continue grappling with every moment of my life. Do I deserve to eat? Do I deserve to take care of myself? Do I deserve to have people who care about and love me? Do I deserve to "recover"? Do I deserve happiness? 

How hypocritical of me to trumpet the entitlement of self-worth to all those around me, while doubting my own. Does a hypocrite deserve happiness? Does a hypocrite deserve to live?

The answer to these questions is always a resounding no, in my mind. And yet, here I am, still alive, as further testament to my hypocrisy.