So, your dream came true. You're well on your way to becoming a college professor and an author. You're involved in projects that promote literacy, stress the benefits of integrating comics into secondary education classrooms, and advocate clean transportation around your home state.
You've come from a poor, underprivileged school district to earn a Bachelor's degree from a major research University. You've gone from being an awkward, unpopular teenager to having the confidence to stick your foot in any door - to shake any hand - to make your presence known in any way. You're not afraid to smile, even though it shows that your mother never had the money to fix a few crooked teeth. You're not afraid to work harder at staying healthy because you sacrificed insurance coverage for full-time education.
You've watched drugs ruin the lives of immediate family members, and you've endured the depression of losing a loved one. You live with two chronic illnesses and yet you rarely let it get you down - even on bad days, you never call off and never skip out. You could've settled many times, but you listen to your heart and let your passion guide you. You believe in hard work, service, education, and innovation. You've always been honest and loyal. You're determined to prove that tattoos and distended earlobes simply decorate an individual - they do not define them.
You've done a lot - but you're going to do so much more. Very little gets you down, because you were raised to hold your head high no matter the task, no matter the challenge. You were raised to understand that you are nothing if not part of something greater. You tell yourself that if it hurts, think of how it could be worse - slam your fingers in the door when someone steps on your toes.
And here you are almost every evening thinking about how it could be worse. Amidst all of your accomplishments, you can only focus on one failure. And yet, you remain selfless through it all - concerned more about his feelings than yours. Letting your unanswered questions fester for the sake of respecting a complexity that you don't quite understand. You've been swept into an undertow but you'd rather drown than ask for help.
What's wrong with you? That's the question, indeed. The question you ask yourself when you look in the mirror. The question they ask when you keep giving excuses for sticking around - for enduring the embarrassment and pain in hopes that some day it'll fade. But it won't dissipate. Every single time he gives you that sympathetic smile, you only feel the suffix. If everyone knew, you'd be a joke. It's a good thing for the most part, this is buried in your own ribcage.
Just shy of good enough - the ultimate insult.
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