all those rage, and i'm still here?

twenty - six

"Envy."

There's a thought I badly want to pop into my head.

If I could just grab a needle and forcibly stab it, I would.

"There's that feeling again."

The song playing from the speaker was replaced by an initial silence brought by my mind as if everything had come to a halt. My body stopped moving, and my hands were cold from the continuous flow of the water from the shower. Staring at my reflection in the mirror, my face contorted into disgust, desperately removing the influence of envy on my bare skin.

I thought about working on myself for the next few months, but then again, why would I be doing it? Would it be merely because I want to do it for myself or do I just want to be better than anyone else?

I wanted to get rid of the feelings of envy. I couldn't help but see myself as inferior just because everyone else was better at me at everything, the worst part was that my friend had never done anything to hurt me.

I knew I was the worst, knowing that I could afford to be proud of the achievements of the people close to my heart, yet could also afford to intensify the hatred I felt for them. I hated being left out, to be left behind, to be left alone whilst I suffered the demise of my defection. I did not know what to do with my life, and seeing others know exactly what they wanted, I admitted that I wanted to strip the kind of shine they bring to the world.

I shook my head. This was beyond my normality as a human being. Perhaps the water could wash it out for me. It was a terrifying sight to be consumed by such, to be consumed by envy.

I thought I had already broken free from this terrifying, unsettling, and utterly disgusting feeling.

"Congratulations, you did so well out there! You deserved the win!" If I could just be burnt straight to hell, I would. All it took was a wide smile—a fake smile on the face and a sweet voice laced with pure envy.

Seeing a good friend rise to the top with pure boldness and confidence triggered something in me. Something I lacked in myself. It must be nice to be so good at everything. It felt as if my efforts didn't matter at all.

"Oh, wow. You drew this perfectly!"

"Hey, took a look at her drawing. It's beautiful, swear!"

"Wow! I didn't know you had this talent, great job!"

I smiled behind the crowd of people admiring my friend's work, but I knew it was creeping up again. I couldn't help it again, as I hid my work in my arms. There it is, that feeling again. I hated it whenever it arose. I know I shouldn't feel that way because it's not suitable. It was uncomfortable to feel such a way, knowing that this wasn't her fault at all.

"Look at her, such effortless dancing!

"Good at sports too, wow!" Are they good at it too? Now, let me just—

"Ah, wow. She's smart too..."

Yet again, it was as if the world had come to a halt, and I found myself stuck in the middle. I felt the the fear creeping inside, as if to remind me of who I was. I mean, practically, who was I? In a world filled with geniuses, who could you be? If everyone has been given a chance to be extraordinary, what's your place now? Should you compete? But god knows how long it'll take until you're on the same level as them, and to know that it's only a matter of 'being born with it'.

What else can you do if you're not excellent?

Don't you merely just crumble into pieces, realizing that you'd never become extraordinary? That in this world filled with geniuses, you'd fit better with the oddness and alienation because you're naturally successful at becoming a failure rather than becoming something you'd be proud of?

I suddenly wondered what was there to look like with someone like me. The natural law to be liked was to be good at something. Even academically, I'm an underachiever. My friends are all good at something, I'm surrounded by achievers who know exactly what they want and when they want it. All their actions are made to align themselves with the path they've chosen.

If I could only just start working on myself and not blame it on others—everything that I lack.

I let the water flow into my bare skin as I embraced myself, shivering at its coldness. I hate myself for being like this. Why must I be so inferior? Why couldn't I do something about this envy? Why couldn't I just accept that I wasn't the same as them? That I wasn't gifted, that I'm meant to become a disappointment rather than to become 'something'? Why would I even try when in everything I do, there's always someone better than me?

Why the hell should I even try? What's even the point of trying? To measure the difference in skill, that is?

Would it be unfair if I wished I was someone better? Because looking at my current predicament, all I can muster is the courage to hate.

"I wish they never succeed."

I wished them hell. I wished that they could never be successful at anything. I wished that a teeny, tiny bit of my emotion, they could feel. I wished they were as lost, as useless, as trashy, as depressed as me. I wished them nothing more but a broken fate. To never achieve anything.

I laughed hysterically at my reflection, eyes widening with a wide grin that seemed ever more familiar than before. My chest was hurting so much, realizing the extremity of my pettiness. I was the problem, I knew.

I knew I was the problem. I knew I was the one who needed the fixing. It was the way I viewed the world. It was the way I saw the world as something all about achieving. I knew there was an issue with me, perhaps a broken relationship with improvement. I also knew that it wasn't my friends, my schoolmates, my family—everyone's fault. But I tried, I, really, really did.

In the end, envy crept up into my bare skin, as I gazed upon how it consumed me whole. My eyes were lifeless as the coldness of the water completely made me numb. What must I do now?

I'm certain that there's no other choice, I could only destroy myself—

I haven't realized it yet, but the moment that thought popped into my head, my hands involuntarily slapped my face. My tears continuously streamed down my cheeks as I clutched my chest, feeling as if any moment from now on, I'd run out of breath. I felt as if all my energy was stolen at this point, leaving me weak.

Would this though finally pop out of my mind? Was conscious effort all I needed to save myself from my destruction?

I just feel like I'm forever worthless if I wasn't good at anything. Would it be wrong for me to be so resistant to this envy, merely because I wanted to change myself for the better too? I want to be better too, not better in the sense that I'd be competing with others.

I, really, just want to feel like I'm doing better at my own pace. I've grown tired of this envy. Maybe, just maybe, I can change.