One of the worst things growing up was having the one person who was meant to inspire you to be the best person you can be tell you that you're nothing.
Growing up with an abusive single parent was, as an understatement, unhealthy. I grew up through years of being screamed at, insulted, and demeaned. I was frequently told that I was good for nothing and would always be a failure.
It took a lot of time for me to climb out of that dark abyss. I kept putting on a bright smile on the outside, and when people found out that it was often masking something else, they were frequently shocked. People, I found, were often very good at judging.
Through years of depression, tenuous health, and teetering over that frightening dark place where one often lost the will to live, I still somehow clung on. And to this end, I had to tell myself that I knew that I was doing my best, that no matter what anyone else told me, I was being the best person I could be.
Being the best wasn't a thing of pride. It was of survival. It was a mantra that spurred me on from one slippery stepping stone to the next. Finding what I loved to do and doing it well made me strive to be better. I knew that despite the many people who kept trying to throw negativity at my fight for survival, underneath I was being the best person I can be.
Being the best wasn't a figure of relativity, it was not a ruler to outcompete or compare. It was a basic fundamental of being a good person, of being the 'goodest' but grammatically meant the best.
So whenever I find myself holding up the broken pieces that constitute my life, I remember that even pieced together with visible cracks, I will always strive to be the best; I am the best.