The thoughts of inadequacy are sometimes blinding. Sometimes scalding. Sometimes buffeting. Sometimes drowning. The thought of not measuring up to one’s potential is disgusting to oneself. Sometimes you lose sight of the important things. Your accomplishments, your family, your friendships, your happiness. Sometimes you think that the people you love don’t give two shits about what you do or how you say things. You think you are more accommodating, you think that you look out for their best interests, but then they do or say something that you don’t feel like you deserved from them. Stupid thoughts fill up your head, comparisons to others your age, comparisons to how others your age should treat you, comparisons about how your parents should think and act around you, comparisons about your intelligence to the smarter people. Just comparisons. You start things but don’t finish them all as often as you like, or perhaps somethings get in the way. (i.e. emotions or people) You tell yourself that you will do it again and again, but when the same failing result is achieved, you start to point out that insanity is doing something again and again while expecting a different result. Maybe you will just stay the same and wallow in your thoughts of destruction. Your inadequacy. Or maybe you can turn this around and try again. Do you think that Rome was built in a day? Do you think that suicide is for people who have hope in their hearts? Do you think that anything you want comes easy? Do you think that everyone around you is better at everything that the world offers? Do you think that you are the ugliest person on the planet who has never received a smile from someone else? Do you think that the famous minds and figures on this earth got that way from sitting on their ass and doing nothing? Do you think that any challenge in life is made to be easy and done online in an hour? Do you think that giving up was the worst mistake of your life when you know you could have done better? You choose to say no to these things. You are not stupid. You are not alone. You have yourself and once you feel like everything in your life is on track, then the happiness you send out will call to others. Your family won’t annoy you. You friends will give up time for you instead of the other way around. The real people that claim that they love you will find a way to see you. They will cross oceans to see you, they will spend money on a gift for you or they will think about you much more than they did before. Inadequacy is in the mind of the sufferer. If you want to succeed, then walk the distance. Cut off those restricting branches, swim the rivers and lakes, build your shelter and be kind to those who you see who are also on the same journey. Of course that metaphor is lame. It’s more like: get a job, go back to school, study and pass your exams, get into a grad school that will fuel your passion and graduate with a job offer lined up for you. There are many literal and not-so-literal “paths” that you can take, but be sure to have one in mind. That will make life easier for the inadequate person. Self-help starts somewhere. Not in a book you buy at the bookstore or in an online article looking for hits on their site. No. It is you. And if people turn their backs on you, or forget about you, then they are not worth the pain of getting back. They are worth forgetting. If you fear loneliness, then stop fearing it. Stop fearing altogether. You can do life. You just need to forget the haters out there. Chances are, you may be one of them, you inadequate fool.
There are certain situations that need not be told. Certain feelings not uncovered without reason or need. Some things are kept in a bottle as a life line. Parchment paper with a note of a supplication in life-threatening proportions sealed in a dirty glass bottle. The waves ebb it out to sea. The flow gets it to an unsuspecting man or woman who may or may not care. Urgency is of the essence, but no one seems to care as much as the one who birthed the bottle from the beginning. People may come and help, but it will most likely be too late. The ocean will most likely have half-eaten the one who wrote the plea. The swish of the sea evidence on their body. Perhaps a creature, of water or land, already devouring the poor soul. But tides bring in new days. New jetsam. New storms. New bodies. And then the process of survival starts again. Only difference is that there is no telling those who will survive and those who will not be able to survive.
The wrath of his anger came towards her. Those menacing steps. Each with a certain weight, a distinct sound, a recognizable rhythm. She knew that her time of peace was over. She knew that things were going to be very different when the footsteps reached her door. She took a quick breath. She was doubtful that the door would be able to hold up against what’s to come, never mind the doorknob. She thought about what could happen. All the bad scenarios in her mind. He had broken down the door before. But this was a newer door. Hide. She could hide under the bed again. Too bad her hair has gotten longer since the last incident. The closet was too obvious and vulnerable. She could hear yelling now. Yelling about her. Defend. She looked around for any potential weapons. Why had she not thought of that before? Oh, right, the fear of overpowering her and using it against her. She did that around one of the first times and regretted it. Phone. She could call the police and threaten that they would come. But if he gets arrested, then his brothers might come after her. They have told her so and had almost raped her as a warning. Internet. She could record everything on her computer so the world would watch. Embarrass him and his family. She could give the footage to news stations that would take it. But what if she doesn’t live to be able to do so? What if she dies in the process and destroys the evidence? She could hear his anger clearly down the hall now. Her name being called for with cuss words following. She heard a big object clank against the walls. Fear now engulfed her. How can she think? She knows something bad will happen to her being. To her soft body. Another blow to her innocence and peace of mind. Suicide. Don’t give him the satisfaction of beating you. Let it all go now. The suffering to end before it starts. She only had a dull pocket knife and a sturdy leather belt in the room. The door starts banging. He is screaming for her to open the door. The object is deafening against the door protecting her from certain pain. Sound like a wooden block of some kind. The option of death seems to comfort her, but should she hang herself now? Moments from the door being taken down? Run. She could make a run for it. she could trick him and run away. She will have to bet that no one is in the house who could side with him. But can she get away? She has obviously tried in the past, with little luck. She can use the belt as a distraction. Or perhaps perfume? The doorknob is now broken. He has seen her.
What she does now will decide her fate. Will she survive?