By Parnika Sahu
Self-doubt is a weed, it creeps up on pretty minds as a pretty mold (But I love it). It is a parasite, it feeds on decaying self-confidence, taking a part of you with it. It is a corset, a black one, with its laces fracturing your ribs and your aplomb. (And you). It is a necklace, it adorns your (not so) strong neck.
Darling you are gorgeous, wear the necklace with care. It is a family heirloom, so treat it as such. Don’t let the precious pearls plummet. Don’t let the metallic clasp break, let it choke you just a little longer. Self-doubt is an art, but not everyone is an artist. Self-doubt is art is beauty is self-doubt is art is beauty and beauty hurts. It’s not beautiful if it doesn’t hurt. Self-doubt is Naegleria fowleri- it eats your brain till your brain is nothing but a mere murky mush. It then stomps on the mush till it looks like your brain again. It is a ghost, it haunts you in your ivory dreams and scares them away. Self-doubt is a cage, and cages protect you. They isolate you from the world and then cluster you with your self-deprecating, rotten thoughts. (We all live in cages, don’t we?) I am self-doubt and the self-doubt is me. We are one, like Bonnie and Clyde. We are one, like Romeo and Juliet. We coalesce into one another. We cannot exist without the other. But we also cannot exist with the other. We polish each other (And keep trying to destroy each other). Self-doubt is a needle to me- I stitch insecurities like pearls into my ephemeral heart, bleeding more each time. What is self-doubt to you?