Secret Secret

I don't think it's any secret to any one reading this blog that despite my public bravado and ego, I am privately very hard on myself and not exactly big on self-belief.

What is probably a secret, however, is just how deep that runs. It really feels like no matter what or how much I do, I will never amount to anything. My modesty isn't a virtue. It emanates from my core belief that I really am not that good.

I don't have trouble accepting compliments and praise because I'm being modest; I have trouble accepting them because I just cannot hear any veracity in them. And yet, I still crave them, perhaps more than most. I suspect this is due to 99.9% of them ringing hollow because of my twisted self-image.

Many times, particularly when I'm very down, I believe that there is some fundamental flaw deep within my very essence. As a result, I believe everything I do or touch will turn sour and be destroyed. I don't think it's any stretch to assume this is why I'm often so detached, distant, and guarded, because ultimately, I just don't want to fuck shit up for people I care about.

This creates a very strange dilemma. If I care very much about someone, I find myself with the urge to fly away from them, lest I wreck things for them. I'm getting better at choking that off, but the underlying concern is still there: Everything I touch seems to turn to ash. I am trying to hope that it won't happen and not flee for the hills. I'd never flee anyway, since I know that would just hurt people all the more.

Sheesh, I am messed up.

Words: 1662
Lyrics: "When reactions turn into hurricanes  And the middle course seems a little tame / Whether full or empty it's all the same"