I’ve done some amazing shares in my head, astounding, astonishing and insightful. I always consider the real ones to be inferior, inadequate and appalling.
I’ve thrown everything at my job, perfectionism, enabling, rescuing. All through fear; fear of what it felt like to rattle off a couple of weeks of solid drinking, fear of another human being experiencing he’ll on earth, fear of failing, but most of all, fear of not being enough.
It’s not the job that’s the problem. I constantly think the grass is greener on the other side, I compare, contrast, demented searching for the next best thing. I’m aware this is the state if being restless, irritable and discontent. I won’t demean various occupations by putting them on a scale of worthiness because even without a job I was just as disturbed. I would obsess about getting a job. Really I wanted to be worthy; enough.