I will never be Good Enough

I'm not doing well, the past few weeks have been yet another dark period in my life. So much happening... most of which I can't bring myself to discuss even in an anonymous setting like this…it's not YOU… it’s me, and the fact that I can't seem to admit the nasty truths to myself. I'm falling apart, I know it. I feel myself slipping. I am aware of the panic building deep inside of me. I know what the trigger is, but I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t know how to “fix” it…and IT *****! Everything feels like it’s upside down, I cry one minute and I laugh the next. Sometimes it starts as a laugh and ends as a cry. And I wonder how much strength and will power I really possess, taking a moral inventory, trying to figure out who the hell I am.

It's just not a good time;
I suppose I should just leave it at that.
I have good ideas,
but not enough heart to stick it out.
Or maybe I’m just not good enough, period?
That's how I feel... not good enough...
not smart enough, or pretty enough,
or thin enough,or rich enough,
or successful enough,
I’m not good enough.
Not Good Enough.
I long to be good enough,
yet that dream has not been realized,
and I wonder if it ever will be.

Lately, I feel nothing...
except emptiness, and hollow...
I can't for the life of me figure out what's wrong.
How did I get this way?
What led to this?
What's wrong with me?
Why can't I make sense of it all.
I think I'm broken.
I feel a heaviness in my heart
something is trying to happen far away
within a part of me I don't remember how to find.
I feel lost
I'm just wandering around within my mind, waiting.
Wishing for someone to tell me what to do and how
but there’s no one to help me.
I cannot allow myself to trust, to lean on anyone.
Been there, done that,
it only ends in more pain, more shame and hurt.
I am on my own with this.
So I write about it,
because that's what I know how to do
and the writing pacifies me
and teases me out of my own thoughts.
I have so much hurt and anger
it’s bubbling to the surface.

Everything around me, and the very fact that I have to go on in the midst of it, whispers to me of my own failure and horribleness as a human being. I know all that I tell myself is not true, but this is not the kind of thing I can just tell myself to stop and be happy.

I see myself as a child. I see a little girl sitting in a dark corner, hugging her knees and trying to be as small and "out of the way" as possible. When she looks at me, her eyes are full of a terrible anger- rage, really and pain. She is scared. I have never seen myself so dark. But she is undeniably me, and she must have existed during that time of my life. I have ignored her, I choose to ignore her, because she did not fit the image I held for myself. She makes me think about everything that happened to me. So much anger, so much hurt. She was rejected, hated, abused; never good enough. She was insulted, ridiculed, hated, ignored, and abused. The pain from the aftermath is unspeakable. I try to list the things my father said to me- did to me- not to relive the memories but to acknowledge the suffering I never could when I was actually going through it. I try to describe the pain and it's so overwhelming that no words will come. I don't know what to say to her…this child of my past. I don't know how to help her exist, how to let myself be angry and hurt, how to bring to life all of the things that I've repressed. I want to express it all, but I don't know where to begin. And I look for something anything, a book, a person, a therapist; anything to show me the way. I suppose there is no way, no road map, nothing but fumbling in the dark, at least that’s been my experience. I try to ignore her, but every night when I close my eyes and I see her, but I cannot sit with her or tell her I am here for her. I am unable to tell her that her pain is real and that she has every right to be angry. I cannot help her or stop her anger or pain. I don’t know how. No one has ever shown me how. And she wants, needs, something, and I don't know what to do, or how to help her. I am so tired of walking this road alone.
I am tired of the pain and anger,
but they are mine- a part of me.

And I don’t know where to go from here.
Or if there is anywhere to go from here.

**I will never be good enough.