Natural Pessimism

I am perennially plagued by doubts regarding my own inconsequential worth, so much so that any endeavor to prove otherwise tends to send me spiraling into depression before I can even have the chance to fail. Now, failure is granted, a veritable certainty, but should I not await its arrival before plunging off the abyss into despair?

Why wait?

Sure, I could wait patiently for misery to come sidling up to me, but I would much rather hunt it down for some reason. I have a counselor that has told me that anxiety is just an imagined future made manifest by your emotions, but it is hard to shut down my imagination- that is my favorite place to haunt after all.

This maudlin introspective foray was prompted by yet another attempt to find some purchase in the world of self-publishing. I am trying a modicum of advertising that will assuredly come to nothing, will serve as a minor waste of money, and will provide verification that these particular opera I dedicate a substantial amount of my life to will terminate in the inconsequential mire.