You Are Not Enough
July 20th, 2015
If you’re unfortunate, your life will be clear, predictable, and boring. It’s an unrealized hell, one which dawns on you while you writhe in your bed at a ripe age, wheezing through your last breaths. It is said that everyone dies in just two ways: prideful or regretful.
Imagine seeing a kayak at a store for the very first time. After much anticipation, you decide to buy it. However, you also decide to test it on smooth waters, because you’re new at this and understandably skittish about the whole thing. After all, so much can go wrong. Throughout your experience on the waters, not a tide unsettles your boat, not a fish swims beneath your vessel, and there is never any chance to lose an oar. Congrats, you rode the kayak. But is something missing? Did that excitement of riding your very first kayak fall short? It's as if the unspoken promise you’d made to that childlike entity inside (the one that squeals with joy after encountering something new and interesting) has gone unfulfilled. No, flipping into frigid waters and drowning isn’t the desired conclusion; balance is ubiquitous amongst anything successful. But something is undeniably wrong. Introspect closer… there is a void, and god does it hurt. Why?
Thankfully, I haven’t managed to live a predictable life, at least not yet. One thing has been clear throughout my two-and-a-half decades living on Earth: I am fortunate.
Health is paramount, both physical and mental. I have realized that when good health is gone, nothing seems “good” anymore (if there is such a thing; after all, aren’t we spiraling through ever-expanding blackness at unfathomable speeds, without proof of objective morality?). Without going off on some anti-organized-religion harangue, let's get back on topic. My family happens to have quality genes. I don’t suffer from any serious physical ailments (yet), not even the common ones, like allergies or chicken pox. Sure, I get blue every now and then, but it’s the type of sadness that holds hands with skewed perspectives. It’s what I choose to refer to as “situational depression,” whenever discussing my friends’ problems. I do suffer from one nagging thing, though. Actually, “nagging” is inappropriate in this context; “haunting” is apt. This problem of mine saps the enjoyment normally derived from spending time with friends and family. It stifles networking opportunities and makes me seem like an unpleasant individual during first impressions. It has even grown to unsettle my sleep, replacing the non-lucid ramblings of an otherwise drowsy mind with painfully clear, loud, and varied judgments.
Imagine seeing a kayak at a store for the very first time. After much anticipation, you decide to buy it. However, you also decide to test it on smooth waters, because you’re new at this and understandably skittish about the whole thing. After all, so much can go wrong. Throughout your experience on the waters, not a tide unsettles your boat, not a fish swims beneath your vessel, and there is never any chance to lose an oar. Congrats, you rode the kayak. But is something missing? Did that excitement of riding your very first kayak fall short? It's as if the unspoken promise you’d made to that childlike entity inside (the one that squeals with joy after encountering something new and interesting) has gone unfulfilled. No, flipping into frigid waters and drowning isn’t the desired conclusion; balance is ubiquitous amongst anything successful. But something is undeniably wrong. Introspect closer… there is a void, and god does it hurt. Why?
Thankfully, I haven’t managed to live a predictable life, at least not yet. One thing has been clear throughout my two-and-a-half decades living on Earth: I am fortunate.
Health is paramount, both physical and mental. I have realized that when good health is gone, nothing seems “good” anymore (if there is such a thing; after all, aren’t we spiraling through ever-expanding blackness at unfathomable speeds, without proof of objective morality?). Without going off on some anti-organized-religion harangue, let's get back on topic. My family happens to have quality genes. I don’t suffer from any serious physical ailments (yet), not even the common ones, like allergies or chicken pox. Sure, I get blue every now and then, but it’s the type of sadness that holds hands with skewed perspectives. It’s what I choose to refer to as “situational depression,” whenever discussing my friends’ problems. I do suffer from one nagging thing, though. Actually, “nagging” is inappropriate in this context; “haunting” is apt. This problem of mine saps the enjoyment normally derived from spending time with friends and family. It stifles networking opportunities and makes me seem like an unpleasant individual during first impressions. It has even grown to unsettle my sleep, replacing the non-lucid ramblings of an otherwise drowsy mind with painfully clear, loud, and varied judgments.
Here’s a taste of what I think about at 2 am every night:
“Why didn’t you go to college for engineering?”
“Why are you not a doctor or scientist?”
“Some people have their master’s degree already.”
“You had so many opportunities to succeed. You squandered them all.”
“1/4th of the way through your life and you have wasted your time.”
“You are not enough.”
“You are not enough.”
“You are not enough.”
It’s not the first time these thoughts have invaded my mind and taken control of the steering wheel. I distinctly remember high school:
“Why aren’t you studying something more useful? Do you not care about your future?”
“You’re going to end up being homeless someday.”
“You need to lift more weights. You need to run faster, farther, and for longer.”
“Why are you so ugly? Take better care of yourself.”
“This girl you’re dating is way out of your league. Stick with her, before she leaves. You left her? Idiot. You won’t find another one now. Prepare to die alone.”
“You are not enough.”
“You are not enough.”
“You are not enough.”
But it didn’t start at the age of 14 or 15, either. From my understanding, the thoughts go back as far as middle school:
“You’re unpopular because you’re different. Nobody likes you when you stick out.”
“You’re shorter than most, and it doesn’t look like you’ll be growing.”
“Everyone thinks you’re a terrorist. You’re Middle-Eastern and your name is hard to pronounce. 9/11 happened, so now you need to look over your shoulder. People are coming to beat you up. You’d best give up. Go hide. Be unknown.”
“You are not enough.”
“You are not enough.”
“You are not enough.”
This is likely the most personal issue I have written about, because as I’d stated earlier: I am fortunate. And while many people choose to vent about such a topic in subtler ways, like with a spouse or close friend, I’m a writer. I reserve the right to write to anyone who is willing to read, hoping to attain catharsis like a Buddhist vies to reach Nirvana—inanimate on the outside, yet fighting an essential battle within. Many will insert a deity at this point to relieve themselves of the unpleasant pressures burgeoning within. Silly me, I willingly take the path less traveled. It’s not filled with as many platitudes and hypocrisies, but I won’t pretend it’s gold, either; my path is lined with snaking barbed wire and pitfalls around every turn.
Even as I type this, the thoughts persist:
“There will be a lot of silent spectators reading. Digesting. Judging. Delete all of this and pretend it never happened.”
“As soon as you hit “publish,” some people will never speak to you the same way again. Some will taper away.”
“Think about what you’re doing. Stop, before it’s too late.”
“You are not enough.”
“You are not enough.”
“You were never enough.”
I’ve never shared this with anyone, not even the closest people in my life. They’ve always assumed I’m a confident guy (why break the image?). Thankfully, the catharsis I’ve sought for many years has finally been reached. Reader, (yes, I’m breaking the 4th wall) I know I’m not alone in this. I know you’ve felt this way before. I know you’ve thought these thoughts, or some derivative. It doesn’t matter if you’re homeless, a doctor, a lawyer, an astrophysicist, a 12-year-old girl, or a baker. You have felt inadequate at some point, just like I do on a nightly basis. The time to stop feeling that way is right now—not tomorrow, not next year. Now.
“You are the product of billions of years of evolutionary achievement.”
“You are a universal rarity, a cosmic beauty.”
“You are made of star stuff. You are legendary.”
“You are enough.”
“You are enough.”
“You were always enough.”
I type this in hopes that you will not perceive my words as the clarion call of the mediocre, but rather the second wind you’ve desperately needed in order to hurdle over the obstacles that never seem to stop falling in your path.
“You are enough.”
“You are good.”
“You are great.”
Stop chasing the people you are expected to be; you will never catch them.
“You are fantastic.”
Naysayers don’t speak to you, they speak for themselves. And inside, they, too, are feeling inadequate. Their reptilian brains—the products of billions of years of evolutionary success—are crying to be heard, to be mended. In times of trauma, the human brain relives moments of great pain, uncovering past wounds in search of the cause. Your brain does this not to torture, but to heal and adapt through understanding. Those people screaming at you are thinking the same thoughts: “You are not enough. You are not enough. You are not enough.”
But you are different. You are beautiful.
You fight the apparitions of past failures. You fight to stay enough, all the while unaware that you have always had the upper hand in this personal war. You fight to be extraordinary in a world that has seen everything done before and better. But something is in the way. Tell me: why do you listen to the immaterial thoughts, which in the presence of knowledge, of meditation, consistently hold you back from reaching your potential?
Do you dream of becoming a great doctor? Lawyer? Zoologist? Photographer? Mother? Father? Human being? Are you plagued by my apparitions, too? I know you have been at some point. I’ve always known, I’ve heard them too. I’ve felt their stifling touch. I know they’re strong when given the chance. Stop living under the thumb of misguided emotions. You are stronger now than you’ve ever been. I chose to be a writer, because I knew I wouldn't be able to live with myself as anyone else. It may not have been the best financial decision at this point, but it's a choice I never regret.
Come out from the shadows and exist. You are more than enough.
As always, if there's anything you'd like to discuss, you can find my contact info at the top. Feel free to shoot me an email and we'll chat. Thanks for reading, happy writing!
All the best,
-V.C. Remus
Depression is an illness which haunts millions of people around the world. Everyone gets sad, but some have a tougher time fighting it. If you have a minute, stop on by to donate to the Anxiety and Depression Association of America.
“Why didn’t you go to college for engineering?”
“Why are you not a doctor or scientist?”
“Some people have their master’s degree already.”
“You had so many opportunities to succeed. You squandered them all.”
“1/4th of the way through your life and you have wasted your time.”
“You are not enough.”
“You are not enough.”
“You are not enough.”
It’s not the first time these thoughts have invaded my mind and taken control of the steering wheel. I distinctly remember high school:
“Why aren’t you studying something more useful? Do you not care about your future?”
“You’re going to end up being homeless someday.”
“You need to lift more weights. You need to run faster, farther, and for longer.”
“Why are you so ugly? Take better care of yourself.”
“This girl you’re dating is way out of your league. Stick with her, before she leaves. You left her? Idiot. You won’t find another one now. Prepare to die alone.”
“You are not enough.”
“You are not enough.”
“You are not enough.”
But it didn’t start at the age of 14 or 15, either. From my understanding, the thoughts go back as far as middle school:
“You’re unpopular because you’re different. Nobody likes you when you stick out.”
“You’re shorter than most, and it doesn’t look like you’ll be growing.”
“Everyone thinks you’re a terrorist. You’re Middle-Eastern and your name is hard to pronounce. 9/11 happened, so now you need to look over your shoulder. People are coming to beat you up. You’d best give up. Go hide. Be unknown.”
“You are not enough.”
“You are not enough.”
“You are not enough.”
This is likely the most personal issue I have written about, because as I’d stated earlier: I am fortunate. And while many people choose to vent about such a topic in subtler ways, like with a spouse or close friend, I’m a writer. I reserve the right to write to anyone who is willing to read, hoping to attain catharsis like a Buddhist vies to reach Nirvana—inanimate on the outside, yet fighting an essential battle within. Many will insert a deity at this point to relieve themselves of the unpleasant pressures burgeoning within. Silly me, I willingly take the path less traveled. It’s not filled with as many platitudes and hypocrisies, but I won’t pretend it’s gold, either; my path is lined with snaking barbed wire and pitfalls around every turn.
Even as I type this, the thoughts persist:
“There will be a lot of silent spectators reading. Digesting. Judging. Delete all of this and pretend it never happened.”
“As soon as you hit “publish,” some people will never speak to you the same way again. Some will taper away.”
“Think about what you’re doing. Stop, before it’s too late.”
“You are not enough.”
“You are not enough.”
“You were never enough.”
I’ve never shared this with anyone, not even the closest people in my life. They’ve always assumed I’m a confident guy (why break the image?). Thankfully, the catharsis I’ve sought for many years has finally been reached. Reader, (yes, I’m breaking the 4th wall) I know I’m not alone in this. I know you’ve felt this way before. I know you’ve thought these thoughts, or some derivative. It doesn’t matter if you’re homeless, a doctor, a lawyer, an astrophysicist, a 12-year-old girl, or a baker. You have felt inadequate at some point, just like I do on a nightly basis. The time to stop feeling that way is right now—not tomorrow, not next year. Now.
“You are the product of billions of years of evolutionary achievement.”
“You are a universal rarity, a cosmic beauty.”
“You are made of star stuff. You are legendary.”
“You are enough.”
“You are enough.”
“You were always enough.”
I type this in hopes that you will not perceive my words as the clarion call of the mediocre, but rather the second wind you’ve desperately needed in order to hurdle over the obstacles that never seem to stop falling in your path.
“You are enough.”
“You are good.”
“You are great.”
Stop chasing the people you are expected to be; you will never catch them.
“You are fantastic.”
Naysayers don’t speak to you, they speak for themselves. And inside, they, too, are feeling inadequate. Their reptilian brains—the products of billions of years of evolutionary success—are crying to be heard, to be mended. In times of trauma, the human brain relives moments of great pain, uncovering past wounds in search of the cause. Your brain does this not to torture, but to heal and adapt through understanding. Those people screaming at you are thinking the same thoughts: “You are not enough. You are not enough. You are not enough.”
But you are different. You are beautiful.
You fight the apparitions of past failures. You fight to stay enough, all the while unaware that you have always had the upper hand in this personal war. You fight to be extraordinary in a world that has seen everything done before and better. But something is in the way. Tell me: why do you listen to the immaterial thoughts, which in the presence of knowledge, of meditation, consistently hold you back from reaching your potential?
Do you dream of becoming a great doctor? Lawyer? Zoologist? Photographer? Mother? Father? Human being? Are you plagued by my apparitions, too? I know you have been at some point. I’ve always known, I’ve heard them too. I’ve felt their stifling touch. I know they’re strong when given the chance. Stop living under the thumb of misguided emotions. You are stronger now than you’ve ever been. I chose to be a writer, because I knew I wouldn't be able to live with myself as anyone else. It may not have been the best financial decision at this point, but it's a choice I never regret.
Come out from the shadows and exist. You are more than enough.
As always, if there's anything you'd like to discuss, you can find my contact info at the top. Feel free to shoot me an email and we'll chat. Thanks for reading, happy writing!
All the best,
-V.C. Remus
Depression is an illness which haunts millions of people around the world. Everyone gets sad, but some have a tougher time fighting it. If you have a minute, stop on by to donate to the Anxiety and Depression Association of America.