insecurity that kills a person

the innermost thoughts of someone insecure

if i had to choose a superpower, i’d choose invisibility. hiding is all i want to do; hiding is all i know. one awful, immutable feeling. one way of thinking, constant thoughts. what did i do to deserve this? this monstrosity that lays within me has engulfed me whole. is it the thing, or the feeling? bleak universe, won’t you save or destroy me completely? this limbo is all too cruel. but why me? why not them? why not everyone? i am the outlier that shall only be worthy of attention if someone is sneering or pitying me.

i concern the few people who have the capacity to care, and yet still, the disgust and bewilderment lays bare in their eyes, i see it, and they see…me. i know i make them feel better about themselves. at least i can make them forget their own flaws for a while. my flaw is my world, the whole world, in fact. it’s though nothing else exists. i breathe, its there, i eat, there again. transfixed in an emmeshment of envy and despair, i watch as those around me live freely, even ignorantly without this curse.

“i will be fine” “it’s getting better”, i lie. horrendous self-pity be gone. i can’t let them see. but it stays. and grows and grows and grows. how to fix it? what to do? i obsess. alone, i can sometimes bare to verge on self-acceptance, hanging onto the cliff of loving myself, until i’m with other people, and then my hands begin to slip, the mountain plummets, and i fall to my demise in a sea of embarrassment and opprobrium. in a mind that tries to hate oneself better, isn’t the attempt of self-love only a hindrance?

i now have quite the panoply of names i call myself. it’s a protective measure, if i say it to myself first, it won’t hurt when someone else eventually derides me. nobody can be as mean to me as i am to myself. i hate me. i hate this thing that binds me to it unremittingly.

my solitude consists of constant disquietude, waiting, waiting for the next encounter that will remind me of what i lack. “she’s so lucky” “he doesn’t know how good he has it” how this merciless emotion has turned me from the sweet apple to poisonous rot. i am venal, if only to myself. it is only safe in the dark.