With your flawed character and chequered past any talk of a natural state is empty romanticism; any natural state that was yours would be abjection. The ground you stand on shrinks by the day, but then any ground beyond your own feet is presumption, serving only as something to defend. Self-contempt is as irrelevant as any form of pride, what counts is an asceticism, surrendering every false entitlement, every claim beyond the metaphysical minimum. To fail better. The only opening that remains is the only one that is always there, the one that can't be lost, behind every barrier of shame. To push through or under the thinking that never stops.