I have to wonder, I really have to, why must I always drag myself down all the time. I think I’ve proven my worthiness already. Hell, I don’t even have to prove it to stop feeling this. But still, this self-loathing never ceases.
Interesting, the sense of pride sometimes seem to be born from this, at the same time it’s destroyed by it. There are moments I’ve run so out of ground that apparently Hephaestus had loan some of sense of grandeur to patch this.
It’s strange, the ways the mind tries to keep itself sane. It resorts unshamefully to mindtraps if it means trying to make it all just bearable. But the sense of duty to get rid of all mindtraps seem to be stronger than well-being, so Vesta is one more who seem to put me more in danger than Trygve.
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