She grappled at the ledge once more, and fell.

She knew that she had not hit rock bottom; that was most definitely beyond her, for she had heard frantically whispered stories about the writhing darkness that lay there. This could not be it. Nevertheless, she fell, and she fell hard, onto some protruding layer that supported her from spiraling downwards.

Wincing at the point of light marking where she had been, she could hear the cackles of her self-imagined demons echoing into the abyss. She pictured them, flaming with unworthiness and reeking of personal disgust, dancing around the hole where she had fallen. Their manic calls cascaded into her trench like demeaning anchors, pointedly reminding her of her own failures.

It was almost too easy to brush aside the wisdom she should have imbibed from others. In a single stroke, she dismissed Sydney Carton’s life of self-pity; she ignored the promising mantras of her mentors that scores did not matter; she was oblivious to the remarks of immaturity - for she was young; she could not accept that her best was not enough. Because, after all, that was her name - Not Good Enough.

For she felt that she was Not Good Enough compared to the brilliant minds that she knew, Not Good Enough to even prove that she was Able. She could not be satisfied with the label of Average - that wore bore too much of a negative connotation for her to endure. She did not want to be Just Average in your eyes - she wanted to be much, much more. In fact, she was acutely aware of how her imperfections showed in comparison to your ideals, of how she could only dare to dream of being impossibly perfect for you.

She shifted her weight. She had been planted on the forlorn layer for quite some time, with no guarentees of getting out. And - did she want to face the elements again? Was the beauty of the sloping streets worth the quarrels with her demons and the heart-stopping fear of the fall? Her mind urged her on, but her dejected feelings acted otherwise. She half-heartedly scraped at the stony walls in an effort to escape.

Instead of taking the initiative, she chose to dwell. And that she did - with a speed almost frightening to behold, she whipped out her notebook and began to painfully write about her sinking truths.

And so, she sat in her hole and revealed herself to the world.