In the past couple years I've become a workaholic, I am always working at things incessantly. Not just my day job but my art, my community, personal projects, etc. I've recognised I'm playing catch up. I'm almost 30, when I was 18 I was kicked out by my parents and I proceeded to lose a decade to trauma, homelessness, drug abuse, and the poor decision-making of a young adult violently thrusted into the world. As of late I feel that I have settled, I've come to terms with my trauma, and I've started to build a life that resembles something worth living. I have a home, I'm employed, I'm starting to be recognised for my art, and I am playing a role in building a healthy and supportive community. These are all great things that despite my past I still feel extremely privileged to have. But now I feel like I have to constantly prove that I am worthy of these things, and thus the workaholism. Rest makes me feel guilty. I feel like I am, in some ways, purposefully working myself to death.