I Don't Believe In Myself

            For what it is worth, there was once upon a time that I believed that I could be anything I wanted. I remember as a little boy I would write little stories and comic books, staple them together, and then hand deliver them to my mom to read and validate my efforts. She always praised me for my talent and efforts. She truly believed in me and thought that I had a chance at becoming an author and I wanted so badly to prove her right.

            One thing that will always stand out to me was that my mom always read and because of that I read all the time too. I would go to the library with her and come home with stacks of books and then write in an attempt to mimic what I liked best of those books. I always wanted to be a published author, but I can’t even get consistent traffic on any of the three blogs I have started. I feel like a failure.

            I have been trying all week to remember the exact point in my life when I became broken and stopped believing in myself. I am pretty sure I was in my senior year of high school when I finally stopped fighting it and just gave into the deep abyss of despair that is giving up on one’s self. Now at the age of thirty-four going on thirty-five I have become stuck in this muck and cannot seem to get the footing needed to get out. The only reason why I try to move is for the sake of my girls and my eternal companion.

            It has been so long since I thought I could accomplish something of great worth that I have a hard time seeing any redeeming quality within myself, others claiming I am a child of God seems non sequitur. Yet I sit here in my home, wife having fell asleep on the couch and two beautiful girls upstairs in their warm beds. I don’t see what my girls see in me but whatever it is, it seems to be the same spark my mom saw in me as a child. I can see it in their eyes and it seems so foreign to me because I used to believe that anything good in me died long ago.

Yet here they are, both girls being the sweetest, most beautiful souls I have ever come to know and they are here in part, because of me, they are in extension of me. My wife stays by my side because she sees in me the potential I could only dream to see in the mirror the next time I look in it. My father who has never given up on me no matter how many times he was burnt for his efforts. My mom for believing in me, even though she didn’t live to see her son become the author she knew he would one day become.

Here I am in agony and pain because I have not yet given up, or given myself a chance.