Lately I've been feeling insecure at work all the time. I feel that all my coworkers are smarter and more talented than me. I am afraid to voice my opinion at meetings, constantly apologizing for my ideas. This severely disturbs my career and social relationships within my team. How can I improve my self-esteem and finally start believing in myself?

From the age of 13 (now 20),I experienced deep seated insecurity and dissatisfaction with the shape and appearance of my nose and it greatly impacted my self-esteem and overall self-image.I embarked on extensive measures to camouflage what I perceived as an unsightly and repulsive nose. Notably, my naturally curly hair became a target of transformation – I painstakingly straightened it in pursuit of adhering to the prevailing standard that straight hair was more attractive. This became a part of my comprehensive strategy to create a curtain-like effect, hoping my hair could serve as a diversion from my nose. My choice to position myself at the back of the classroom was intentional, an attempt to evade angles that exposed the hump on my nose. Even when I laughed, my immediate instinct was to shield my face, concealing the widening of my nostrils – and this very habit persists to this day. Frequently, I'd return home burdened by an overwhelming sense of distress over my appearance.

My dad, in his attempt to console me, resorted to comparisons between my nose and those of accomplished individuals. He invoked examples like Marie Antoinette and Barbara Streisand, emphasizing that these notable figures embraced their unique looks and still achieved considerable success. However, these comparisons offered little consolation, failing to alleviate the deep-rooted insecurities that plagued me. My envy of individuals with straight or smaller noses remained unwavering, leading me to yearn for an entirely different nose. Unfortunately, these feelings of shame and discontent culminated in a series of challenging situations. Throughout my formative teenage years, I spiraled into a profound state of emotional darkness, primarily as a consequence of this issue. My fixation on my nose escalated to an unhealthy and all-consuming extreme. I amassed an extensive collection of nose-centric images, which included close-ups extracted from my friends' Instagram posts. Proficient in photo editing, I subjected my own pictures to intricate alterations, attempting to craft a more favorable version of myself. I also ventured into drastic measures, including massaging my nose until it bled. I distinctly recall attending school with a visibly swollen nose as a direct result of these actions. In my endeavor to divert attention from my face, I threw myself into excessive exercise regimens, dedicated hours to meticulously selecting outfits designed to overshadow my nose, and even toyed with the idea of bying an unconventional "nose lifter" device online.

 Advancing to the present, post my rhinoplasty last year, I find myself still grappling with a prevailing sense of dissatisfaction. While the surgical procedure effectively addressed the hump on my nose, an all-encompassing sentiment of discontent continues to plague me. My family's patience has worn thin, as they urge me to redirect my energy towards more meaningful pursuits. Reflecting on the period prior to the surgery, my fixation on my appearance dealt a significant blow to both my academic and personal growth. Countless opportunities were forsaken, including the realization of my long-held aspiration to attend medical school. I now acknowledge that societal beauty standards played a substantial role in amplifying these deeply ingrained insecurities.I'm intricately involved in the process of reshaping my self-perception. I've come to understand that the act of comparing myself to others is fundamentally disrespectful to my inherent worth. In those moments when negative comparisons arise, I gently remind myself of individuals grappling with challenges far more significant than appearance-related concerns. I'm steadfastly committed to fostering a profound sense of gratitude for the blessings that I possess, irrespective of society's prevailing norms. Rather than seeking validation externally, I'm gradually cultivating self-compassion, treating myself with the same kindness and understanding that I instinctively extend to my loved ones. To counteract the lingering negativity that occasionally resurfaces, I'm intentionally redirecting my focus towards my unique talents and passions. I'm channeling my energy into endeavors I excel at and genuinely relish. I've begun to comprehend that my appearance is just one fragment of my multidimensional identity. I'm currently navigating the journey of embracing what I possess instead of yearning for what I lack. Through practicing mindfulness and gratitude, I've found a means to genuinely appreciate my body and exist more fully in the present moment. While I do occasionally find myself drawn into moments of comparison, it's no longer an overwhelming and all-consuming compulsion. In essence, I've reached a point of comprehension wherein I understand that my appearance merely constitutes a facet of my overall identity. I'm actively engaged in nurturing my body through healthier choices, occasionally enhancing my features with makeup, and curating a wardrobe that resonates with my personal style, irrespective of external validation. While I haven't fully conquered all the challenges posed by my self-perception, I'm gradually and resolutely progressing towards a healthier understanding of myself and a heightened sense of contentment.

I have attempted to hit my gf twice in 10days. Cant control anger or thinking pattern . Please help

Salutations and apologies for this terrible title, but to simplify everything - that's what I truly feel from day to day basis, but not quite that, so let me explain.

It's honestly weird. I am a normal guy by all means. Sure, got bullied a bit like all, but I fought back relentlessly, but there was something I never could fight back.

I grew up in a not so decent home with parents who acted more like teenagers, with all of the insecurities and lack of maturity. They always would put me through a rollercoaster of emotions that I, to this day, do not understand. At one instance, I was their beloved kid, worthy only of praise, yet, moments later, I would get beaten, ridiculed, diminished and get told that I "was a failed piece of shit", apologies for my language, and that I "should've been aborted".

Mind you, that was told to me by my beloved mother, who was the whole world to me growing up, and yet she would say such awful things to me, abusing me both physically and mentally, and then she would forget (or pretend to, for all I know) that she ever did anything bad to me, and it was extremely confusing to me while I was younger.

As I got older though, I understood her more. She was a victim of far more abuse, so my siblings would tell me "not to take it close to heart" and to "man up and stop whining". I tried. I failed. I tried again, and so on.

My siblings...

I am the youngest kid in the family, so of course everyone looked at me like I was treated like royalty, and they were jealous that they "didn't get that love and pamper that I receive", so no wonder they would get mad at me. In their eyes, I was a milksop complaining about overeating again, and they were starving children.

I got beaten up a lot by my brother growing up. Got cracked bones from all of that and minor brain damage. Was told that "it ain't a big deal" and to man up again. I failed and tried.

They, however, all of them, mother and siblings, would relentlessly dump their trauma and frustrations onto me, like I was a mop used to clean up stains of rotten juice and urine, yet I didn't complain, even when they would start to get physical in venting out their frustrations by hitting me.

I was raped by a woman at the age of 13. I didn't tell my siblings, for they would only sing their same old song, and didn't tell to my parents, for fear of ridicule and abuse. So, in my defiled, awful state, I decided to take matters into my own hands.

That was my first suicide attempt. It failed due to a stranger helping me. I sometimes curse that tourist for that to this day for cutting the rope, and myself for not properly checking the forest. Then came another attempt - same happened, but this time the dead branch snapped. So I tried again, and on the fourth attempt, I got scared of ending it all. I mean, funerals are expensive, and I wouldn't want to burden my family even more, so I decided to stop.

It didn't last long. My mother had another meltdown, and she and my brother beat me up severely, but no one really cared about that, except for my nephews and niece, who tried to comfort their young, beaten and scared uncle, while themselves shivering and crying too.

That day, I tried to shoot myself with my father's shotgun, but it jammed on me. I remember thinking to myself something among the lines of "I am cursed."

Due to all of that, my father and mother had a big fight, and I moved to a town where my sister lived. I finished 9th grade there, and went to a post-soviet analogue of a trade school to study geophysics.

It was rough. I lived in a terrible dorm, and studied in an environment even worse. The professors there where absolute assholes who were basically failed geologists and geophysics trying to feel better about themselves by abusing students and misusing their rights as educators to simply be assholes for the fun of it.

My mental health worsened. I couldn't get help because I then would get kicked out for not meeting the qualifications, and I didn't want to disappoint my parents even more. I finished it, and now I am a geophysical technician, heh.

Point is, I don't think anyone or anything can help me anymore. No one cares about me. Nobody. I am completely alone, at least I feel like it. And I also feel like a failure. I mean, I had 9 attempts that didn't put me down, what can you call a guy like that?

So, I guess I do deserve all of it. I deserve to be ridiculed, not taken seriously and beaten when I get out of my line, so I just wonder why.

Why shouldn't I kill myself?

Why does God, or the universe, or whatever/whoever you, the person reading this, believes, why does it not let me end this pathetic existence with some dignity?

And more importantly - how can I become normal again? Just how?