That question hits me every day, over and over again like a bully who doesn’t know when to draw the line. No matter how many times I fight back, tell it to stop, cry, try to avoid it, or tell on it, it just keeps coming back. Am I good enough? Am I good enough at what? It doesn’t matter. Everything. Nothing. I just need to be good enough. I’m not sure whether that’s because of something innate – if it’s my personality and competitiveness or if it was just drilled into me. Either way, it feeds my anxiety and embraces my depression.

“Is my job prestigious enough? Is my salary high enough? Does my job interest me enough? Am I making enough of a mark? Am I good enough to go to grad school? Am I good enough to even get in? Smart enough? Passionate enough? Am I just thinking about my job and continuing education because I’m comparing myself to people who seem ‘better’ than me? Well, am I good enough compared to them? Am I athletic enough to compete in sports? Am I good enough for people to want me on their team? To play with me? Am I talented enough? Do I treat my family well enough? If I don’t, am I a good enough person? Do I treat my friends well enough? Do I have enough friends? Am I close enough to a number of them? Do I spend enough time alone? Do I spend enough time with people? Do I spend enough time learning? Volunteering? With my dog? Am I pretty enough? Social enough? Good enough for people to like? Good enough for someone to love? Good enough for someone to keep loving me?”

God. I can keep going. On and on and on and on until my head feels like it’s going to explode. Tears streaming out of my eyes, hands grasping my hair as though the questions are seeping through its roots, my voice whimpering as I attempt to keep from screaming. It doesn’t matter how deep the question is; it doesn’t matter how unimportant it seems. All that matters is that I keep asking myself. And that each time, I can’t seem to be consistent with my answers.

It’s important to keep telling myself “yes,” in some way or another. Whether or not I believe it. If I don’t, then I have to keep saying yes, I am good enough in whatever little thing it is – if it’s as small as knowing I have nice handwriting, or that I’m not extremely overweight, or that someone out there, even if it was just for one day, had loved me. I need to believe that I am. Good enough. Because at the end of the day, if the answer to that question turns out to be, “NO,” then the next question surfaces and leeches onto my every thought: “Then why am I still here?”