The phrase "nothing to offer" perfectly describes how I’ve been feeling about myself these past few months. I have this gradually building thought that I just have nothing to offer the world. No talents. No abilities. Nothing that makes me unique, important, skilled, or distinguished.
My sister is a dancer. She’ll be a professional one day. She works hard. But she doesn’t deserve her skill. I’m aware I shouldn’t be judging who deserves what, but she’s not a good person. She lies, cheats, steals, is chronically selfish and lazy. If you knew her and me, you’d know that, rather than me imagining or exaggerating these features about her, as you might assume I am, I try to ignore them. They are just to glaring to ignore, however.
But she was born with talent. She does not have feelings of indecision hanging over her. Her life is simple. She is not mentally ill, as I am. She has no fear of the future, no problems of note, not even the occasional unlucky moment. I keep telling myself she has to have those things, but the evidence amounts in the opposite direction.
I can no longer avoid the fact that I have nothing to offer. I am of above average intelligence, but barely. I have talents, but nothing of any note or usefulness. I can do a rubik’s cube in a minute or two, I am knowledgeable about animals, have memorized hundreds of digits of the never-ending number pi, but none of these things will ever be useful.
I have no idea what I want for my future. By extension, I am indecisive about everything else. My mind is ill. I have my obsession-based OCD and symptoms of other disorders not diagnosed. When I wake in the morning, I have no desire to be alive, but none to be dead either. I enjoy my friends, I have my happy moments. So I am not depressed, but rather, resigned to a fate of living without pride in myself and without accomplishment.
Growing up, I always felt destined for some great victory, some great accomplishment, some great moment that would define who I am and show that I am important, that I am worthy of respect and note. I’ve always been so sure of that. I’ve tried so many things throughout my fifteen, almost sixteen years, and all have ended in dead ends. That sureness of the thought that has diminished just recently, in these past couple of months, however, to the point where I have to realized that I’ve always been wrong. It is not being wrong that bothers me but the realization that I’ve lived in delusion for so long.
I don’t know what to do. I’ve tried it all, but I just have nothing to offer.