A wave of sadness just hit me and I feel like I’m never going to be enough. Never going to be sick enough or good enough or smart enough or, well.. anything. What if I’m never thin enough? Then what will I be? When I was younger I wanted to be good at the things I loved, like dance and art and loving others. But I’m never good enough. Then I wanted to be good at being sick. But I’m never good enough either.

Sometimes it’s feels like I’m slowly slipping through the cracks, like the droplets through the street grates on a rainy day. Small, unnoticed. People walk on by, water splashes up the curb as the cars zoom through. Nobody sees the droplets, or the empty shell left behind.

I miss art. I miss yoga, and dance. I miss myself. I miss the little girl that was free to be who she was, free to laugh too loudly and love too freely and feel too deeply before the world broke her. I know what the missing puzzle pieces are, I just can’t seem to find them in the fog of depression and pain and numbers. I just want to be me, I just want to make art and read and learn, I want to cook and bake and travel and connect with the people around me and just live. Live, and be alive. But everything is quickly passing me by.

There is endless depth in the ocean beneath the still waters & crashing waves of a sad, broken heart. And yet, I don’t know if I’ll ever be enough. How many droplets do an ocean make?



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