Open Door

Open Door

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Quieting My Inner Voice

From the time I was a small child, I have always struggled with feelings of inadequacy.  Born with Attention Deficit Disorder and raised in feral environment, I fought my own brain, trying to comprehend the simplest tasks—like tying my shoes and addition.  I watched my classmates excel above me in every way, both academically and socially, overwhelmed by an insurmountable closed gate between me and my dreams.  They went on to college, but a higher education wasn’t even a consideration for someone like me.  I told myself that the opinions of “they” didn’t matter, but my self-worth was slowly eroding away.  How could I not feel insignificant when I failed in every measure society placed value on?  

I’m not telling you any of this to have your pity, but to help you understand my inner workings.  I learned to accept my limitations many years ago, and if I let my head do its thing, we actually mesh quite well.  On most days, the voice inside declaring me sorely lacking remains silent, but I do have my moments, like today, when all of my previous feelings of insecurity come flooding back.  I am torn down to my bare essence and faced with the same gate, taunting me.   It is times like this, when I pose the same questions over and over…

Why have I chosen this path where rejection sits at every corner?  Haven't I had enough of that already?  What makes me believe that I even have a snowball’s chance in hell of succeeding?  There are times when I consider calling an ugly duckling an ugly duck, but the thought of giving up my dream and moving on is far more painful than being told I am deficient.  Perhaps my childhood was only conditioning for what lies ahead.  I know one thing for sure: quitting is not an option, but I have also decided that I can’t count on the doors miraculously flinging open either.  I knew this going in, but I can’t change my hope or direction anymore than a leaf twisting in the wind can.  As my thoughts keep circling back, I come to the same conclusion—I am not doing this for money or even recognition.  I write because the alternative is too bleak to even consider.     

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