At Twenty: Me or the Many

A stupid thought.
As if the many couldn't be me,
As if I could ever help the lot,
As if the many would care to be
The beneficiary of such a sacrificial lamb.

My savior complex, if that is what this is,
Is a scam.
How pathetic, but with Death in my ear among his
Deck of Aces, it's all that I have, it's all that I am.
How can someone so worthless live without a cause?

Terrified to move and even more so to fall.
I have to give up the mantel, I have to let go. Because
Without arms, how will I climb this inevitable wall?
I won't weather a drop as I am, failing means to die.

I need to move on, I need to live for myself.
I can't live for others anymore, and especially not a lie.
I have to leave these memories where they belong: on the highest shelf.
But I'm so afraid. So afraid to try.
I don't know who I am: my likes, my hobbies, my feelings.

What do I like to do when death is at a many years distance?
How do I make myself do things without threats, without beatings?
How do I learn to accept my existence?
How do I be kind to myself and give up my own teachings?
Acceptance is so daunting at twenty.