Sadness vs. Self-Pity

Made a startling realization today, that when I'm in a moment of "Oh, woe is me"--and lately, it doesn't take such an obvious form, but it has evolved into something much more sophisticated--I can dispel it by just asking myself "Am I pitying myself?"  Just shining that pregunta lucida on the feeling makes it go away, or at least dwindle in its potency.
 
An image came into my head actually, but Spoiler Alert:  In Spiderman 2, Doc Ock attaches those arms to himself and they get fused onto his body in a freak accident.  But during that said accident, the chip that allows his "higher mind" to exert control over the arms bursts, and he's left at the mercy of the machinic logic.  It isn't until the end of the film when he gets a chance to address this situation once Peter Parker confronts him.  Well, it occurred to me as I was saying that wonderful antidote to self-anything--the Third Step prayer of AA--that the line "Relieve me of the bondage of self" is just like Doc Ock in that moment, receiving his moment of grace so that he can put his situation to rights.  The reckless arms are that bondage to self, but we can be gently reminded that we have choices.  And I can choose to shine the light on my self-pity.  If it's really sadness, that will still be there.  If it's not though, or if it's self-obsession or whininess ("The world is so unfair!") then that will disspate.
 
If I ask that question and the feeling largely vanishes, then whatever it is I'm really feeling lies underneath.  Today I realize I'm feeling afraid, not so much sad.  Sadness and fear have frequently masked each other, but both hide fear underneath as well.  I've been taking some baby-step risks in letting others into my life, and it's plenty scary.  I don't like to be vulnerable, and I've been feeling really embarrassed and fearful because of this change in behavior.
 
Part of my being of service to others however comes from this very vulnerability which I greatly fear.  I like to think of myself "in control," which is pretty common all things considered.  But still, the feelings of fear and discomfort do not make for a pleasant time right now.
 
I've been telling others about my financial fears, about my situation regarding what "my real work" is--that I'm sort of spiritually and psychically back to who I was when I was five years old, and I "don't know what I want to be when I grow up."  When I was deep, deep into the sugar and flour and other addictions, I desperately wanted to be a writer.  I so wanted to see my name on the spine of a book, sandwiched between Mordecai and Moritake or whatever.  But since I gained a whole new life from changing my life around, from making the most fundamental change I could possibly make, I'm not so obsessed with being a writer now.  I feel it's a part of whatever mix I'll create in the future, but I don't think it needs to be as central as it has been.  Of course this could change, but for today I understand that the writing element in my life has only been there during the course of my addiction, and I don't know whether it's solid or ephemeral.
 
I wish for the life of me I could remember what I wanted, what I liked doing when I was five.  What dreams I had.  The intensity of the chocolate and sugary flavors I associate with my chubby childhood obliterated all that went before it, just by the sheer excess and "over-the-topness" of the taste-sensations I experienced, along with the emotional and physical roller-coasters I put myself through in those years.  I don't know how relevant it is, knowing what I wanted to become and what I enjoyed doing before I was addicted.  Still, I think it'd have some utility, if for no other reason than as a baseline.  Of course, there might be other reasons why I can't remember from before age five.  That's also possible.  I still wonder who that boy was, and how different the 40-year-old man I am today is from him...