I think I’m important —to the very limited extent I think that— because people tell me and show me that I’m important to them.
Can you imagine that? Being told by a different person every day that you’re loved, that they dream of you? Having complete strangers offer you their bodies and minds and pasts and futures? Recognizing that the things you say resonate so deeply that people are willing to spend literal years of their lives waiting for a chance to know you? Receiving heartfelt letters —paragraphs of actual correspondence, from girls who normally ration punctuation like they have only so many commas left— telling you how your mere existence has made the toughest time of their lives easier? Can you—
What am I saying? Of course you can’t.
But I’ll bet you’re very special in your own way. Hang in there, champ.