Written at 11:37pm on 12/18/19 when I was 18 years old. It was the night before my last final (Chemistry) of my first semester of freshmen year. I was not feeling particularly optimistic I ended up failing the final, but I ended with a B in the class because I had done well all semester. In hindsight, failing the final meant nothing. I moved on and finished my degree. I got worse grades on exams in other classes, and none of it truly mattered. Yes, I would have much rather done well on the exams and not had to deal with the stress of unknown consequences, but everything turned out okay. Better than okay, actually. I have a consistent job and am financially stable. Something that few others in my family were able to say at my age.

Enough

I have been trying to prove my worth since before I knew what the word itself meant. My parents tell stories of a young me standing in front of the TV singing, dancing, acting, entertaining, and waiting for applause. If none came, I began again. They end the story laughing, saying how I wanted attention. I was such a performer, a typical youngest child. But I know I wanted positive affirmation. I wanted them to applaud me. To tell me I did good. To tell me I did good enough. That I was good enough. That I was enough. Or I would begin again.

Little me grew a little. I began school always terrified of getting in trouble, not for fear of punishment but for the disappointment that followed.

Then little me grew some more. School started getting harder, and so did my quest for being enough.

High school came around…

The little me was terrified of not getting applause, but the high school me was afraid of not getting college paid for.

What if my grades aren’t enough? What if my test scores aren’t enough? Am I in enough clubs? Am I at a high enough chair? Am I volunteering at church enough?

Am I enough?

These questions repeated in my head like clockwork multiple constantly every day.

I began obsessing over everything I could control. I filled my schedule so I didn’t have time to rest, to think. Sometimes I wanted to quit everything so I could simply sleep. So I could take a long hot shower without feeling guilty. So I could enjoy these high school years like everyone tells you to.

No one knew how sad I was. No one knew how empty I felt, how little I thought of myself. Not saying no to anyone, afraid to disappoint.

I took on responsibilities like they were accessories to my outfit even though they weighed me down like chains made of iron. I suppose people knew I wouldn’t say no, which is why they asked me.

I regret keeping toxic friends who hurt me deeply, where I couldn’t–and can’t–reach to try to repair.

So afraid of hurting others, I stayed quiet. The Band-Aids holding my soul together stretch like elastic on its last strand. I guess silence can be violence too.

I used to be so mad that I felt everything so deeply–mad at myself that I never spoke my mind. Never stood up for myself. Never quit. Never rested. Never enough.

I am learning to be at peace with myself, whatever I am. Whether it is enough or not is completely and utterly arbitrary.