wasted

I’m afraid that I have wasted every moment of my life, including this one right now. I’m also afraid that I will waste every future moment worried about wasting the subsequent moment.

I have read that this is indicative of anxiety and that this can be addressed.

Then, I think about the previous sentence and worry that I’m the only one who will not be able to address it.

The techniques and methods could work for every human in the entire world, but not for me.

Hope is an option for everyone, except me.

Writing a blog is a hobby available to anyone with internet connection, excluding - you get the point.

I might want to treat myself at least the way that I treat everyone else.

If you - nonexistent reader - told me you wanted to start a blog in your spare time and that you privately wanted to be a writer, I wouldn’t think you were the strangest person on the planet. Why do I believe that about myself? I wouldn’t tell you that anyone without a monetized blog is a loser that nobody likes. Why do I think that every time I come here to post?

No wonder it is so hard for me to write here. With all those insults, it’s incredible that I even showed up here today at all.

Here’s to this moment, wasted or not.

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