The notion of ever being "not good enough" tears me up in the most violent way possible yet breaks down my existence in a manner so gentle, so gradual nobody would have noticed.

The days leading to my term break saw me in a befuddled state, stifling, on the verge tears. I was constantly stressed out. I didn't reply my friends for days because I couldn't stand picking up my phone. Going online meant facing a deluge of work/school-related messages I wasn't prepared to answer.

My body showed signs of decrepitude and I went around looking gaunt daily. I grimaced at the thought of work. I was burnt out, my mind insolently blank.

"You're doing well. You need to stop being so hard on yourself"

Yet, instead of taking the pieces of advice to take a pause, I stubbornly took on even more jobs. I thought by keeping myself busy, I could numb the pain. Fighting fire with fire? Maybe.

The recent occurrences, the multitudinous challenges, forced me to believe that life just has an unhealthy obsession with ruining me. Tearing me down. Breaking me apart. It's been months of trying to put my life together. I'm contented but, as like poles repel each other, triumph still eludes me every time.

Beset with an avalanche of self-doubts, I catch myself neurotically wondering, too many times, when will I succeed — if ever.