top of page
  • Writer's pictureJessica

what do you do when your best just isn’t good enough?

some days are tougher than others.

I feel so close to giving up. So close. Precariously dangling over the edge. And it might not even be a conscious step forward. I might just fall by mistake. One more sleepless night. One more unintentional dig. One dance move gone wrong. One comment. One stumble. One mistake. Sometimes that’s all it takes. Something as insignificant as a blade of grass. There are hundreds of them everywhere, all the time. Thousands, millions even. Usually they’re soft and comforting. Grounding, even. But when the pollen count keeps building, And your legs get itchy, And your throat is scratching, Eyes watering, okay, crying, and all you want to do is lie down and feel supported, but there’s that one blade. Sticking out in the wrong direction. A millisecond. That’s all it takes. The damage is done. The skin is sliced. You almost didn’t notice. Why would you? A paper cut. Nothing more, nothing less. But it stings. It stings so fucking bad. The drop of blood slowly appears, but it doesn’t go away. No matter how hard you try. The slice is there. What you thought was just a paper cut, is now splitting further. Deeper. And once is gets under the surface, there’s no coming back. Not immediately for sure. Because the tiny cut, the stupid one, the mistake, that was enough. That was the final straw. Literally. And all the work, the pain, the healing, the soul searching, the sleepless nights, the starting all over again feels pointless. If all it takes is one paper cut, one blade, one hour less sleep, one thought too many, one more bill gone unpaid, one argument too close to the bone, one truth. What even is the truth, if it’s all based on perception anyway? Why do I bother? Why do I fight back? Why do I defend myself? Why do I try so hard to please? Why do I put myself through this? Why do I put in the hard work, day after day, month after month, year after year? For this? Self doubt. Self defence. Self loathing. Self self self. Why am I so selfish? Is it just me? Or is everyone inherently born a narcissist? Am I even a narcissist? Or do I just need some time alone? What is it that I need? Do I really need it? Or do I just want it? What’s the difference? So many questions, such few answers. I hate not knowing the answer. I hate that it’s almost autumn. I hate using the word hate. I hate that I cry every day. I hate that I feel this way. I hate leaving home. I hate that I don’t know where that is. I hate that the panic attacks are back. I hate that I care so much. I hate that it hurts. I hate that I let it. I hate the pain. I hate it all. But I want to take responsibility. What does that mean? I can’t go through it again. (...apologies, I had to take a pause whilst I cried my eyes out mid-flight) No time to die I won’t go through it again. I don’t know everything. And some days I feel like I don’t know anything, but I do know some things. And I have learned the hard way, that help is better than doing it alone. I’m just so rubbish at asking for it. Good at being stubborn. Good at being a know it all. Good at being too proud. Too loud. Too bossy. Too hungry. Too indulgent. Too ambitious. Too demanding. Too self-centred. Too preoccupied. Too trigger-happy. Too good at spending. Too self-reprimanding. I’m trying, I really am. To be kind, to both others and myself. Some days it just feels too much. Recently, every day has felt that way. As I’m often reminded, you can’t pour from an empty cup. I’ve been simultaneously depleted and nourished, a delicate balance. Libra, what else? Contradictions, a life of them, I thought I loved them. Often I do. Life isn’t binary, just like this isn’t binary. Some days are going to be harder than others. And even though I feel very broken right now, I feel more complete than ever. I’ve never known myself better who I am what I want who i want to do it with... now, it’s time to work on the how. Traditionally speaking, I’ve been good at that, getting things done. That’s what I pride myself on. Enough rumination, enough planning, enough hypothesising, enough psychoanalysis, time to just do it, forget the rest, because it's not serving you. What isn’t helping you, is holding you back. Read that again. I love you. Everything is going to be okay. Just a little belief. A baby one. Start there.

75 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

At this precise time, on this precise day, four years ago, I was drugged. The scene: the South of France. The scenario: a birthday party at a friend's house. The friend group: a gaggle of twenty somet

October 3rd There will be 13 weeks left in the year. 13 opportunities to start again. 13 mondays to make magic happen. 13 is my favourite number when it comes to magic. Last year, when I lost the will

1808 I was born to write. But somewhere along the way I convinced myself I wasn't a writer. My dad used to read me the newspaper as a baby. I slept in the box room at the back of the house, two rooms

Post: Blog2_Post
bottom of page