Ever since I was young, I have been afraid of being inadequate.
While at that time in my life I could not put a name to it, I knew that it was there.
So I began to compete.
Why?
I wanted to prove myself-not just to others, but also to myself.
I wanted to prove to myself that I am enough.
Sufficient.
Adequate.
So now, here I am.
At the top.
The feeling is worse than ever.
Every mistake I make haunts me.
Every error destroys my faith in myself.
Everyone has expectations of me, the highest of all my own.
I am terrified.
Terrified of disappointing those people.
Terrified of disappointing myself.
Why is it that I can never feel adequate?
Why is it that every mistake I make amplifies itself, destroying my hard work?
Why can I not be satisfied?
The questions I often ask myself over and over again.
And then it comes to me, a question far more potent in its impact.
Without these fears, would I still be where I am today?
Without these fears, without these torments, would I even be me?
And then I realize something:
The day I am satisfied,
The day I quit fighting,
The day that I become complacent,
Is the day on which my time will end.
YOU ARE READING
Melancholia
Poetry"Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility." - William Wordsworth
