Around 11 p.m. every night, I lie alone with my thoughts and contemplate the very worst things about myself.
I know I should be doing something more supposedly restful like counting sheep. Instead, night after night, I lie wide awake in the dark, facing the wall, worrying about what people think of me. As if turning the pages of a frustratingly dull book, I’ll leaf through my shortcomings as a friend — text messages I haven’t responded to, birthdays I’ve missed, nights out I’ve bailed on. I think about how I disappoint my extended family — forgetting to call elderly relatives, leaving too long between visits, for being too “difficult” and assertive when I do visit. Read more…
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