I can’t sleep because I can’t give this up because I am nothing without it.

I’m not particularly funny or smart, I don’t have a career–let alone a successful one, I’m not artistic or creative, I don’t have a trade, a set of unique skills, or fuck–any skills. I’m not pretty, or thin, or even super athletic. I’ve literally never been the best at anything even though I am always trying to be the best at everything. I don’t have any interesting hobbies, I don’t keep up with current events despite trying to force myself too, I don’t have any favorite sports teams, or literally anything to talk about. I am the most uninteresting person, ever.

What is even the point?

Stop alright, you have two beautiful children. OK, I am a mom. Congratulations, I keep two young people alive just like trillions of people before me.

At least when I accomplish these small goals (115, 110, now 105) I’m feeling some sort of success. Some sort of direction. Some sort of…something. And at this point, stopping short of the goal feels like another failure. I can’t even be good at this!

Without it, I am nothing.

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