The problem with me is that as soon as the going gets tough, I start having serious self-doubt. Now, granted, there are a lot of things in life that I am bad at (normal human socialization being one of them), but for the most part, I hold up the illusion of being a functional member of society pretty well. Sure, as soon as the shit hits the fan, I typically want to hide under my bed and cry, but luckily I’m a masochist, and tend to take fallout head-on, right in the kisser.

Long story short, I have gotten the hang of coping with failure.

Needless to say, this leads to a lot of frustration. Not only in myself, but in a lot of people around me.

I sometimes wonder what would’ve had to be different in my life that would have made me someone who was more confident, someone who was more sure of my abilities. Because I can’t deny the fact that I’ve been given some gifts, and this constant anxiety about possibly fucking things up seriously limits my chances of making this world a better place.

I can’t help but feel that most people deal with adversity in a much healthier way than I do.

I, on the other hand, would like nothing more than the permission to just fall apart and go to pieces. I just want to run out of situations insane and screaming, freaking out about the sky falling.

I am not the pillar of stability that I wish I were. I do not possess enough self-assurance to be able to figure out what to do next. In times of crisis, all my actions become tentative, with the expectation of making everything probably worse, if not outright disastrous. I do not have the knack for gambling. I don’t get a thrill from taking risks, when everyone knows that life is all about risks. Without risk, frankly, there is no hope. If everything were certain, why worry?

Why is it that life always tends to hit me hard like this? In the almost 30 years that I’ve been on this planet, why have I not learned a single goddamned thing?