The hero that I hoped I’d be never seemed to show up.

I have been trying to write an entry for a few days now, but I keep stopping in my tracks; the longer I stay away, the harder it is to settle back into the habit of letting the clack of the keys on my laptop become a metronome to which I rhythmically purge the garbled contents of my mind. Today I’ve decided to eschew style in favor of catharsis (and procrastination, but that is neither here nor there) and just fucking write something.

Lately I’ve been torturing myself a fair bit by “looking in on the good life I might be doomed never to find.” My voyeurism has been of the digital variety: Facebook, Tumblr, and LinkedIn  have their purposes, but “checking out where I stand compared to everyone else” really shouldn’t be one of them. All of my excessive social-network-based creeping of people who I envy for some reason or another has left me with a major feeling of inadequacy. Thankfully, this is a demon I’ve battled once before, so I’m aware that this weighty disappointment which has been resting on my chest the past few days is entirely a construct of my own mind and not an accurate representation of my worth as a human being.

When I’m not engaging in senseless comparisons to other people, I’m pretty fucking happy with the majority of my life at the moment. I’m studying Philosophy and Computer Science (my two academic loves, one old and one new-found) while living in a city that never ceases to take my breath away, I’ve lost 25% of my excess body weight since June, both of my chronic medical conditions are being controlled by medication, I’ve somehow managed to hang onto my job thus far despite some major restructuring within the company, and I seriously have the most fucking awesome family and friends that a person could ever ask for.

Given all of that, how could I possibly be so envious of anyone else’s life? Actually, no. I redact that statement. How could I possibly think that what I envy is beyond my reach? While it’s true that I may never have a degree from an Ivy League school, a flaweless body, or a set of remarkable social skills, I can have a bloody brilliant career, a fit and healthy body, and maybe (just maybe) I can learn to socialize like a normal human being. Writing all this down doesn’t make me feel completely better and completely secure with where I am in life, but it does make me feel a lot more honest about my insecurities which is a start, right?

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