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It’s a weird thing to sit and think about one’s own confidence – or in my case, lack thereof – because it makes you start to question how things ended up that way.

There are times when I feel confident, even cocky, but it usually comes after someone I don’t like has tried to put me down or push me out of something and it’s more rage than confidence, and the cockiness shrouds the scared little girl who doesn’t really believe what she’s saying.

Years of being told you’re mediocre for the sake of someone else’s ego will do this to a person, and it’s not as if I don’t have people in my life to tell me wonderful things about myself, I do… but I fail to see them the same way they do, and it either leads to me ‘not believing them’ or something of the sort.

I find myself overanalysing situations in which I’m involved and my friends are suddenly upset or ill, and first I want to apologise for whatever I did… but then my mind comes in with the comment that I’m not as important as I think I am so it can’t really be just something I did that is causing this, and to say some apology like it is would make me seem ridiculous.  So I go in a circle with myself and end up biting my nails down to the quick and cause myself further pain – I know… right? weird.

But then it goes further than that, my lack of self confidence may have actually caused me to not apologise for something I might have caused, or in other cases, cause me to not go for something that I truly want because… what happens if I fail? What does that say about me as a person?

I have a feeling tonight is going to be spent with my stomach in knots trying to figure out just what’s going on with my head, which might lead to me going to bed early.

Usually when someone’s thirtieth birthday comes around they reflect on what they’ve accomplished in their life, and reasses their goals.

As someone aimless, directionless, and generally unaccomplished, that kind of post would be so ridiculously depressing as to cause more issues than it would solve them.  It would shine a light on the dark recesses of my life where things don’t exist in any concrete way and instead are just a thirty year string of vague experiences to build me into the person I am, which at times is so questionable that I honestly wonder how formed I am at all.

Instead, it seemed a better time to focus on the things that I do have in my life that matter – namely my friends – and explain just how amazingly blessed someone can be by such a thing.  I’m not talking in a ‘God led them to me’ sense, but in the sense that I managed to find people who so complete me as to make what meager existence I manage to eke out every year seem just a bit more tolerable.

I walk with heroes, and not in the traditional sense.  They aren’t curing cancer or saving damsels in distress (often), nor do they wear capes or have fancy logos, but they’re heroes all the same.  In a world where people are content with being mediocre and only caring about themselves, these people excel – not only do they excel, they push others to excel as well to the point where just being around them shrouds you in a cloud of good feelings so powerful you honestly can see a light at the end of the tunnel, or chasm, or whatever it is you’re trudging through.

People come into their lives and easily pass them over, not because they’re unremarkable, but because they don’t insist upon themselves.  They write beautiful things, and say things that are intelligent, and because they’re not throwing out ten cent phrases or ten dollar words, they’re passed over.

I walk with heroes, do you understand how weird that is for me? To know I’m surrounded by such amazing people – even if only a few – and to know that they think the same of me? That I can exist in a world where these people care enough about me to make an effort to stay in my life? That I matter… I matter to people who I think should belong to the world, but the world won’t see them.

They may never be famous – though it’s a shame they’re not – and they may never be accepted by the world, but I know that it’s a better place with them in it.

This is what I’ve managed by the time I reached thirty.  I managed to garner a few close friends so amazing that if the world came to an end around us, as long as I had them I would be completely fine with that.  How weird is that?

I walk with heroes.

You know, that’d be so much more clever if I weren’t being at least somewhat literal there. No, I don’t mean that life has an actual foot and is punting it dutifully into my uterus, but I do mean that I went from having the worst allergy headache and face-melting bullshit last night, right into bleeding to death because I was blessed by being born female the next.

I’ve spent the last few hours wishing for someone to come along and take out the equipment and the playground and -everything- and just leave me with a blissful moment of never having to deal with it again. Now that the pain is subsiding, I still have the same want and urges, but less pronounced with bitter anguish and wanting to punch someone.

I don’t know what has been up with my health lately, but every time I turn around there’s a new reason for me to roll into a ball and cry myself to sleep as soon as possible, but I can’t keep letting my life be ruled by poor health – which is also totally my fault for being sedentary and what have – can I?

So here is me, making an effort to write a few things today that are NOT sponsored posts like the previous, and instead something more fulfilling and lovely, no?

Key word here is attempt, we’ll see how it goes.

There are times when I’m sure, beyond a reasonable doubt even, that there are people in my life who would be better off without me.  This doesn’t mean I’m having fits of searching for a knife to slash my wrists or end my life – someone being okay without me doesn’t mean I have to cease to exist – it just means I have to cease to exist in their lives.

It’s a hard thing to deal with, these feelings? But in the end, when you feel it so deeply that you can see the cracks in the wall you’ve built up where you believe that you’re important to some people (and very well may be) isn’t nearly as important as your impact on who they are, and how you make them feel sometimes being the percussion beat of your entire friend-song.

I’m not sure just exactly how you’re supposed to deal with feelings as such, but I honestly think if I  could suck it up and allow myself to melt out of people’s lives, as I have done sometimes – though that was mostly by cutting off everything I felt in a way that was damaging to myself – that some people would realise that the importance of me is not nearly as great as how they feel after I’m gone.

I’m not so vain as to think that I am the only factor in that.  I don’t think that I leave someone’s life and all their problems fade, but I think with the removal of me, there is less drama, less pulling at the seams, less things they have to worry about, and then there’s one little kick start somewhere that makes things move towards better.

It has been bringing me to fits of sobbing lately when I realise these things, or when I look at my relationships and see how easy it is for me to fall by the wayside.  It shouldn’t bother me that much, right? I can’t be anyone’s everything, and I wouldn’t ask any of my friends to make me that, but sometimes I get used to the way things are and so when they start to fracture, it hits me as something that is my fault and then it goes downhill from there.

Crushing depression runs in my family, and right now I’m trying to self-manage some pretty severe feelings that I can’t even begin to put into words properly.  But I’ve been spending more time crying and more time trying to rectify thoughts in my mind with what I’m truly capable of.

Regardless, writing had to happen to see if it’d help make me feel better.  It’s a long-shot.