holding space for myself

I run so fast and intensely from liking myself. Holding space for myself is alien. How can I hold space when any positives about me feel like the weight of spacetime folding onto itself. I run aimlessly and fill space from others' chasms. It's monumentally easier sheltering there. At least this way I am helping them out of their deep oceans of pain. It's ok, you go to the surface, I'll hide in the depths instead. This feels like home. Crying on a Monday night, I wonder why feeling and doing things is so continously hard. I should share myself with others. But hidden behind that instict is the fear that I will lose them. For I am not someone worth loving, if I cannot give my entire being to others. Sadness, anxiety, and grief are the most comfortable feelings. I am the normal me when in their midst. To come out of them, in those rare moments, I look at myself puzzingly. Who is this person? You don't belong here. Go land back into that comfortable, stabbing noise. It's the only bed I…