So, What’s it Gonna Take?

We all come to this world in the same way. We are all shipped in similar packages and equipped with mild to moderate differences.
I agree that no one is the same. I agree that we are all unique in our own way.

At the same time, we all live and breathe. Some of us are more fortunate. And some people will live with challenges that no person should have to face. Some have obvious talents that go beyond compare and others have skills that are less seen or less known.

It has been said to me that nice guys finish last. I often wonder if this is because nice guys realize that they don’t need to win the race.

I often wonder if I am alone or if anyone hears or sees me. I wonder how it comes to pass that people can lose their livelihood or their sanity and others can walk by without saying a word.

I wonder if the world turns away from these things, just to get by or to survive with one less problem on their mind.
I also wonder about the way people gather to watch someone else fall to their demise, as if to think, “better them than me!”
I see people revel in the downfall of someone else. And I see this all too often.
I see people enjoy the pain that’s felt by someone else. I see how people love to stir the pot or keep the gossip mills running so the rumor factories can be alive and well.

The truth is I don’t know what people see, think, or feel. And I might never know, unless a person tells me. But even still, interpretation and perception can cause me to mistake intentions.
I have seen what happens in the land of misinterpretation. I have seen the fights that come from misperception. I have been part of the sagas and the emotional warfare and yes, I have taken part in the unfair battles. I have landed my share of low-blows and in the essence of battle, I can say that I have received my share of cheap shots and I have been blindsided too, much like the rest of us have.

I cannot say that my battle wounds are greater or far more (or less) grave or disheartening than yours or anyone else in this world. I only know how these things relate to me.
I don’t know how it is to live as someone else.
I don’t know what weight feels like on someone else’s chest and I don’t know what a flesh wound feels like in someone else’s skin. I know me.
I know about my heart and my flesh and the wounds that have impacted both of them. At the same time, I know joy too. I know excitement.
I know passion and ecstasy.
I know about the feelings of erotic or orgasmic things, and yes, I know about the feeling of warm skin, or the feel of her curves, her body, or the justice her touch serves, which reminds me that life is good, and I can be human again.

But that is not what this is about.
Not at all.

Life often comes on the scene without warning.
This is nothing more than a relatable fact.

The core of my being is mine. This belongs to me. The way I see things or the way I interpret light, and sound or taste and smell can be subjective to me.
I know the same can be said about the way I view things. I understand that perception is not truth, however, my perception is only true to me.
Therefore, I get it.
I am no stranger to the deception of my own perception. I have taken things out of context. I have lost to assumptions, and I have lost myself to the comparisons between myself and other people.
I have surrendered my happiness and lost moments of joy to an inaccurate version of life.
So, I suppose my question is what’s it gonna take to change this

I think about the word, “enough.”
I think about the definition and what the word means or what it means to be enough in a simple definition.
This means as many or as much as it takes to be required.
Is money ever enough?
Is love?
Am I?
Are you?
These are valuable questions to ask.

I used to believe that money bought everything.
But then I go back to the times when I was in the emergency room at a children’s hospital.
And just like the nursery rhyme about Humpty Dumpty who sat on the wall.
Humpty Dumpty is the one who had a great fall.
And same as “all the king’s horses and all the king’s men, couldn’t put Humpty back together again,” it is often true that all the wealth in the world cannot stop life or death from happening.
This is life.

Sometimes nothing is ever enough.
And I get that.
But what does it mean to be enough?

To be enough, or to be as much as it takes to be wanted, or to be regarded, to be thought of, or included, or to be enough in this world for someone to say, “see him? Yeah, him,” and be pointed to and regarded as their world — is this what it means to be enough?
I think about silliness of our thinking. I think about the irrationalities that overwhelm us into some kind of sensational overload.
Yes, we think ourselves sick.
I know we do.

I think about the way our thoughts jump from one catastrophe to another — or the way our minds worry and assume the worst.
Some people handle this better than others.
Some, not so much,
I am one of those who handle this on a daily basis.
Then again, I think this makes me human.
(Somehow)

Again, I say we are all packaged similarly, and we all come with the necessary vital organs and signs of life — we all have a heartbeat, blood pressure, and lungs that breathe the air.
We have a brain in our heads. Then again, I suppose it’s fair to say that some brains are more present or dominant than others.
Either way, we have the needed items to survive but no two people are exactly the same.
We do not live or survive the same way — or at least not totally.

Take beauty, for example.
There are some people who come with more physical attributes than others. And there are some who defy the typical norm or exist differently from the commercialized version of someone beautiful.
I see you as beautiful.
I see you as a correction to the ugliness in the world around me, and because of you, there is something about your existence that validates me, or makes me realize that I need to find my way so I can change.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
At the same time, I have seen beauty, close up and personally.
I have met people who believed in their own ugliness, so truly and so fully that they never assumed that anything about them could ever be noticed — or seen as beautiful.
This is why I mention you here, before i digress too much and run off in a different direction.

What does it mean to be enough?
Is it enough to only be enough for one person?
Is it enough to just be enough for me?
Is it enough to be loved and adored and yet, regardless to the cheers or the adoration or the accolades, is this enough to overcome the ugly lonesomeness that we see in our emotional mirror?

If I see me as worthless or if I find that I always come up short, will I ever assume that my true value would be enough for me or someone else?
How could I be enough for you if I always assume that I am not enough for me? How could I compare if somehow, I always come up short?
How do we change this kind of mindset?
How do we resist our own default settings and rather than go back to what failed us, how do we change our thinking to find a better path that what works for us?

If I look in my emotional mirror and see flaws or the inaccurate reflections of my insecure nature, will I ever see me as worthy enough or desirable for you or anyone else?
In most cases, i would assume the answer is no.

I remember my first attempt at a real relationship. I failed.
Then again, I am told this is where the saying “crush” comes from because in most cases, we are crushed by our first loves.
The background before this comes with stories that have no place in this entry. At the same time, it is important to point out that my early youth and my early background came with different social challenges.
I did not experience the same rites of passage as other people my age.
I had to learn the basics by myself.
I had to learn new social skills with flawed ideas and insecure thinking.

I had to find out how to navigate through the acceptable ways of what to say, what to reveal, how to interact and how to avoid the irrational or the emotional dumping, which often takes place with people who experience youthful trauma.

I saw myself as somewhat of a misfit or challenged. I swore that I was too stupid or that I was like a special needs person, appeased and applauded when doing a simple task, like tying my shoes or bagging groceries the right way.
I never saw myself as smart. No.
Not at all.
I believed in the old emotional tapes and messages and, of course, I acknowledge that words do have meaning — in which case, I believed in all the bad words that were said about me.

Bum. Loser.
Stupid. Junkie.
Lunatic. Psycho.
Thief. Retard.
Drug addict. Criminal.

Then again, there were other labels that I accepted too.
I accepted them as truth because these labels came from what I would assume are people with official titles. These descriptions came from people with professional credentials.

I was told I was:
Learning disabled.
Emotionally disturbed.
Depressed.
Attention Deficit Disorder.
And while never tested or confirmed, I have been called a sociopath, a psychopath, bi-polar, and there are other disorders which all fall under the mental health umbrella too, —like, oppositional defiant disorder, borderline personality disorder, and the list of accusations can go on if I allow them.

I have been accused and pointed at, and I have had to find ways to navigate around this.
Or in other cases, I ran towards these things and became the beat that someone else claimed me to be.
Absolutely . . .
I did this.
More than once.

If any of the above is true or accurate, then how could someone who fit these labels possibly see themselves as worthy?
Just to be worth a second of attention is huge.
But how could someone with abuse, or trauma, or other stigmas see their own value?
I saw all the above.
How could I see my true value, let alone, how could someone (like me) see themselves and believe they’re enough?

What does I mean to be enough?

Getting back to my first romantic interest, I remember trying so hard to prove myself.
I thought that love should loom a certain way,
But I was wrong.
I remember the absolute foolishness that I felt. This was overwhelming, especially when I learned that she cheated on me. And she did this repeatedly. But worse, I remember the humiliation when she called me by another man’s name in the heat of passion —twice.

My introduction to the romantic world was not kind at all. My commitment to my selfish regard as a means of personal survival was done so that I would never be that foolish again. And this has been something that stuck with me throughout the years.

I saw vulnerability as a plague. I hated humility and say this as something that was both painful and deadly. I saw me as the opposite of beauty.
I believed that I was hideous, that I was somehow unsightly, at best.
I saw that if someone liked me, none of this would be for long, and eventually, the truth would be seen.
Eventually, my sad side would be discovered, and it would be known that I am not just ugly, but I am not good enough, by any means.

I think back to the times when I tried to “be good” and then I think about the people who I made attempts to love.
I think about the delusion of self and the illusions of fears that added up to be insurmountable.
I think about the stains and scars and the invisible sightings that we pick up on.
I was ugly in my own eyes. And if this were true, then how could you or anyone else see me as anything but what I assumed.
Ugly!

I think about the contempt I feel now as I expose this.
I think about the disgust I feel.
I think about the same or the hurt child within who only wanted to play or see the sunrise.

I think about the way I want to shake from my being and how I want to get rid of this insecure version of me.
If this were a person, I think how I would shake this person.
I hate this person.
I would grab their shoulders or punch the old version of me in the face for hurting me for so long.
I would.
This is all too humiliating. And if this is humiliating, then why bother exposing this?
Why tell anyone?
Why try?
Why tell on myself, so-to-speak?

I’ll tell you why . . .
at the end of the day, I have to face myself in my emotional mirror.
There is no avoiding this.
I have to come to a constructive conclusion.
Each and every day.

I have to get out of bed every morning and each of my sins and my secrets are like added weights that hold me down or keep my dreams from flying up and reaching the clouds.
I need to be free.
If I want to be free or to be enough (at least, for myself) then I have to do whatever it takes to set myself free.
I have to do this regardless of who cares, who cheers, endorses or opposes, or regardless of who looks at me as special, like a special needs person who can barely bag groceries — no matter what, I have to get up and move.

I never thought I was enough and therefore, I could never be enough for me or anyone else.
Never.
Because of this, I have sabotaged and self-destructed and ruined relationships, friendships and opportunities.

This is what overthinking and insecurity has done for me.

But let me ask you something if you don’t mind.
What has yours done for you?
Anything good?

I have been told that fear is an excellent motivator.
So is darkness. So is death or dying alive.
Insecurity is an excellent motivator too.

And so, now, and finally, I plan to let this motivate me differently.
Lastly, I plan to let this motivate me to live, as in from now until the hour of my death, Amen.

Am I enough?
Whether I am or not, I have to ask myself the question.
What’s it gonna take?
This is the key to my happiness.

But I wonder . . .
what’s yours?

Know what I mean?