Good, Good, Gooder

am I good yet?

Sometimes I write something and I think it’s good. I want it to be good. It’s something that has to be good. When I write something like that, I can’t allow myself to be less than good.

The good thing has to be recognized as being good, too — me thinking how good it’s can’t be enough. I publish it. I wait for the recognition to come. It never comes — or, at least, not in the way I expect it to come. I start to get worried that the good thing I wrote isn’t good enough.

I re-read it.

I get sad.

I spent time writing something that maybe is good but just simply isn’t me. It’s me pretending to be better, smarter, gooder than I’m. And, you know, I’m perfect enough— it’s weird I’m trying to be better than perfect.

Of course, when I write that good text I don’t think I’m perfect — I, probably, feel lonely, unloved, and insufficient in some way that’s not always possible to understand. Hence, I’m trying to fix that deficiency by writing something good. I don’t even want to write. But I do want to write something good to feel better.

My gut health isn’t great. It hasn’t been great for like five years? One day —in the middle of my last year at uni — my stool just went bad and never got better. I mean it does get better sometimes but then it gets…