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I grew up believing that I was good, that I was special.

Believing - yes, I think that’s the right word. I make pretend that I am actually good at something. That I am somehow special in my own respect. I always tell that to myself, and to other people, in forms of jokes and random banters. Humour is the best way to coat the heavy punches of make-believe realities, right?

Because if I stop believing in myself, then no one else will believe in me. Outside my own bubble, all I hear are contradictions - that I will never be enough, that I am way behind other people, that I am nothing. There’s nothing really good or special in me.

I am nothing. I know.

I am not really detached from reality. Whenever I pretend, that doesn’t mean that I can also make pretend with what I feel. I have stared a little longer looking at my reflection on the mirror as I try to convince myself that maybe I am actually worth something.

Maybe - because I am not even sure anymore. Even my own voice has abandoned myself. I can’t even try to identify anything that’s good about myself. I can’t even believe myself anymore that I am somehow good, at something, at anything at all, because I am not, I have never been, and will never be.

I’m just a piece of shit thriving to find his place.

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