I have a problem with measuring my worth by how much I can produce. I sacrifice my health, my relationships, my sleep, to be a number on a page. But not just any number on the page, the best number on the page. Most of the time I do this, there is no monetary reward for working harder than I have to. No extra opportunities, and not even any real satisfaction. I wring myself down to blood and bone hoping I’ll get even a fucking crumb of validation or attention or genuine connection even though I rationally know that it will bring me none of those things. I have been told my whole life that to be worthy of those things is to be successful, and to be successful is to be the best, regardless of the cost. That compromising is the devil and that there is no such thing as good enough, as there is only one spot at first place. What holds me to these ideas, despite logically understanding that they’re wrong, is the need of approval from others. The yearning for the same level of attention I received as a young child for the same behaviour. To be just as valuable to other people as I was when I was perceived as blank slate.
I am nothing without the opinions of others.
And it has left me with no one.
















