It’s one of those days where I really have to force myself to write. I’m done with feeling inadequate. I’m intelligent and interesting and have substance to offer the world. I’m so quick to downplay my achievements, to tell myself what I’ve done,what I’ve built up, doesn’t matter in comparison to the seeming perfection of what others have created with their lives. Our lives. How dare we compare our lives with those of others. We all face challenges, different challenges, and we all dot he best we can. Some face bigger challenges. There’s no point resenting those who seemingly have smoother rides along this path than we. There’s no reason to feel less than another, because our lives are much more than outward appearances. I get caught up in looking at certain people I know and imaging how smoothly their lives have gone because of what little weenie bit I know about them. We’re all fuck ups in some way. We all have felt fucked up, like we’re worthless, like we haven’t done anything, and if you haven’t felt that way you haven’t really lived life in a way that honours the risks and rewards life has to offer. Over and over again, I find myself falling face first into shit and eventually finding the smell sweet. 

About Undecided Pseudonym

A woman who remembers enjoying writing.
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