I'm Not Enough

August 28, 2012

I don't want to write this post, but it needs to be written.

Bullshit. Appearances. Acting as if. The mask. What a fucking joke.

Every day, I'm not enough. Not compared to others. Everyone seems to be more talented, less stressed, more compassionate, healthier, prettier, and more at ease. It seems everyone else is better at making choices. Better at accepting reality. And certainly, no-one else sits there and analyzes all this "life" stuff as much as I do.

Knowing this is hard. As much as I love myself...there are times I downright hate myself. I make bad choices every day. And the truth is I must want to continue to make bad choices because I don't want to stop. At least, I don't want to stop enough to actually stop.

If I want to have a healthier body, I would eat better and exercise more. I'm not doing that.

If I want to be a writer, I would spend more time on my craft. I'm not doing that.

If I want to be more compassionate, I would spend more time assisting others. I'm not doing that.

If I wanted a less cluttered house, I would spend more time sorting through things and eliminating the things I don't need. Nope, I haven't done that either.

So, in the end what do I want? Is what I really want to be a lonely philosopher who spends her time just thinking about both consequential and inconsequential things til my death? What kind of a life am I proposing for myself?

I really hope that's not what I want. That can't possibly be my purpose.

I know, accepting myself is the key to a happy life. Accepting my flaws, my humanity. But really, it only pisses me off. I'm pissed because if I know how to do things different, why don't I? Where do my choices come from? Laziness? Conformity?

I'm 41. By the time I'm 45, I want to at least have different problems. Not these same ones. I'm getting bored of the same problems. I want to hate myself for new reasons...not those same tired reasons I've carried around for so long.

The mask I'm wearing is starting to itch. I need to scratch my ear, rub my eye, but I'm afraid in doing so the world will get a glimpse of what lies underneath the mask. I can't let you see me, so I'll stay uncomfortable hidden inside this facade.

I'm not enough. No part of me is. Can I be OK with that?