Mediocrity

One of my most deep-seated and real fears is being mediocre. The thought of being an ordinary woman, with an ordinary life scares the hell out of me. I can’t imagine myself as a domestic woman, doing domestic things. And this is not to say that I have something against people who do choose that for their lives or that I feel that their value is any less than my own, however, It’s just not something I would choose for myself.

Mediocrity, to me, is not doing the best I possibly can at any given moment. To me, it’s being just so. It’s being average. And I don’t believe in being average. I want, no I need to be the best or one of the best in every single thing that I do.

This need even extends to things I don’t like. Maybe I don’t enjoy a particular subject in university, or maybe I don’t enjoy a specific adventure activity, but I will do my absolute best to be better than others at it.

And yes, these needs to constantly be two steps ahead and one-up others do get toxic at times and things that I can’t fully succeed at, knock me down.

This toxicity drives me into a state of delirium wherein I feel ‘not good enough’ and like an unproductive blob. This feeling leads me to further be unproductive and robs me of my motivation to do absolutely anything. It’s a feeling of utter hopelessness.

And I hate it. I hate it because in those times I am the very thing that I never want myself to be. I feel mediocre.

I absolutely despise it and when I’m finally able to see through the haze of delirium, I realise it. And once I do, I pick myself up and start again.

Maybe this is a vicious, unhealthy cycle, I’m not sure. But one thing I know for sure is, I cannot, no will not, be mediocre.