I have this strange state of mind. I think, without thinking about it, sort of by default, that I don’t exist. I don’t count. My actions don’t count. If I read, or write, or dance, it is not reading or writing or dancing. Only the actions of others are meritable.
I need some sort of pat on the back for all I’ve done.
I’m joining a support group for people with concomitant mental illness and drug abuse problems. For the Kratom (thought that was done? I’m on suboxone, remember! It’s going really well except for the decaf addiction -_-) and the sza.
Nothing I do matters. But every little thermal vibration of my being is a consequence of action. So what do I say when I’ve done something? And what if I’ve done something correctly? And what if, God forbid, I’ve done something great?
Who am I to say I don’t count?
This is absurd.