I used to think being a 'good' person meant erasing myself to make everyone else comfortable. It's a bitter pill, realizing that the 'goodness' you offered was never really seen anyway, just expected. I spent decades running on empty, fueled by the faint hope of acknowledgment that never came. Now, I hoard my energy; it feels almost sinful, but I'm still here. The guilt is the worst part, isn't it? Knowing you're finally putting yourself first, but still hearing the phantom echoes of everyone you used to be responsible for, whispering that you're selfish. Maybe 'selfish' is just another word for 'alive'.