As an honest confession, I have the lowest opinion of myself and my abilities. Fully embracing this reality is depressing, and debilitating, and even life threatening, and it’s a poor reflection of my faith in humanity more generally, so I opt for the other extreme, and exercise a zealous faith in humanity and others, in the potential and possibility that lies dormant in every spirit, and do my best to act as if the struggle was won, and a more purified sense of self has been achieved, but the existential conflict remains, and the degrading opinions persist to peck at my weary worth.
“But your too hard on yourself! Look at all you’ve done! You’re expectations are too great!”
Cognitively this all makes sense, but it’s a spiritual depression. Transcending it with lofty ambitions is a temporary salve. When I come back to earth, and I am alone, and reflect on who I am, and who I want to be, and observe the abysmal gulf between the two, there’s no amount of therapy or achievement that can make up for it.
William Dare 