As someone involved in various academic communities on a respected campus of higher education, I know a lot of high achievers; like, a lot of high achievers. People who overload themselves with accomplishments and memberships, graduate with honors in 3 years with 2 degrees and 4 minors, lead various Greek organizations, or are on student government, or present at conferences, or all of the above. Or, on the not purely academic side, who carry multiple jobs and internships, perhaps are on an athletics team, volunteer in their community, and interface with local and national movements in their ‘spare’ time. And let me tell you, as much as I admire and root for all my friends and peers who are doing such impressive, amazing things, sometimes, I just hate them.

Because, you see, that was supposed to be me.

I was a gifted child in a privileged household, blessed with a love for learning, a high IQ, and an obsessive-compulsive personality. I consumed books by the handful, loved my teachers, and latched onto several extracurricular pursuits in the visual and performing arts; because, you know, why stop at one interest when you could have three? I regularly came home from elementary school with ‘O’s for Outstanding (before they had “real” grades), and in my spare time wrote plays, illustrated stories, or started up recycling campaigns for my K-5th campus.

But it didn’t last. It wasn’t long before, as I’ve written about previously, I started getting sick. And from then on, everything I juggled always had a caveat. I still had the compulsion built into me to Do Everything, Aim High, Reach for the Stars – but I started to fail. I would get As on papers, be a student representative, moonlight as a teacher’s aide, and create and sell art on the side, but while I was “achieving” all of those things, I’d still be falling behind in classes because I couldn’t keep up at homework, or failing to complete projects because my mind couldn’t stay focused, et cetera.

From the right slant of light, I had everything under my belt. From another, I was falling apart.

That paradox never really went away.

I don’t know exactly what it’s like to be a real, bona fide high achiever. I can only remember bits and pieces of success in life. I remember winning poetry performance competitions, getting on honor roll, campaigning administration to post student murals on equality, hosting whole theme weeks on campus, running clubs, knowing school staff, teaching, tutoring, taking early college classes, building sets; but I was never quite The Person Who Did It All. Because while all of that was happening, I was also regularly ill, failing courses, getting into trouble, crashing cars, and forgetting every third responsibility.

The problem was, I was never able to moderate. I couldn’t take one or two side things and balance them with enough free time to get my homework in, get a full night’s sleep, and regulate my health. It’s just not something I know how to do. If I’m not doing everything I can be doing, I lose my drive and verve for anything; but no matter how much drive and verve I have, I can’t ever do everything and succeed. It’s not the Mark of Cain, it’s the Curse of Chain. There’s simply no other way for me to be.

Here's the thing: I never hear about other people like me.

I know a lot of high achievers. I also know a lot of in-betweeners; people who focus on a well-rounded life and balance involvement with, you know, actually sleeping a full 8 hours. And then I know people who, like me, struggle—but who focus on overcoming that struggle, instead of trying to do everything else. Because let’s be honest, not everyone who can’t achieve is sick. There are a lot of reasons some people are held back where others succeed. Sometimes it’s due to economic inequalities; sometimes to the bias and prejudice which may withhold them from being presented with opportunities; sometimes it may be other responsibilities, like taking care of family or paying off a debt. It’s not that high achievers necessarily don’t have any of these obstacles holding them back, either. Often they are so impressive because they do not just meet their struggles but exceed them.

Honestly, I will always hold awe towards people who manage to slay life in so many different directions while discriminated against, or disabled, or lacking in resources and privilege. But it also makes me wonder, how many people are like me: not quite living small, not quite living big? How many people are out there who don’t get in the news for being a prodigy, accepted to all of the Ivies, running a business at age 21, but may be overcoming just as great odds, expending themselves just as much?

I’m a member of two professional or honors Greek organizations, and an officer for one, I run a campus organization and am on the exec for one other, I co-lead a chapter of a nonprofit mentoring organization, I’m a Humanities Scholar, a writer for Odyssey, and a member of the arts & literary magazine staff. I have run workshops and awareness campaigns and advocated to staff and represented my communities, yet I’m not really winning the game. I have to put things off because of illness. I miss out on opportunities for further involvement due to sleep deprivation. My clubs’ reach is limited by my own energy, and I can’t claim academic honors because my GPA suffers when illness strikes, or when I struggle to even complete a class in time under ineffective medication and a glitch-heavy brain.

I think the greatest challenge for me is that, like any over-achiever, I always want to do more. Yes, sure, I’m doing all of the above, but why am I not also presenting at undergraduate research conferences? Why am I not graduating early? Double minoring? Volunteering? Working part-time? In more societies, talking to more people, reaching further, broader, higher? Why don’t I do yoga and drink eight cups of water every day, too?

For your average over-achiever, their only limitation is time, and maybe focus. For me, the limitations are more than I could name. I don’t know how to be any of the other types of people. I don’t know how to say, “Hey, I have psychological disorders and disabilities and chronic illnesses, so I should keep the bar low and focus on overcoming my obstacles to be a success in just one thing, like school.” Nor do I know how to say, “Hey, I know I can’t do it all, but I’m gonna pick just two or three focuses and work at them and that will be a rich enough life for me.” Maybe I was spoiled by starting off so well, maybe it’s a feature of my disordered brain itself, but I only know how to be a high achiever. I only know how to say, “Let’s do more,” – even when I’m not doing well enough. Perhaps I still see each achievement as something that, removed from context, I know I could do. I know I have the smarts, the drive, the creativity to do any of these things. The only thing I don’t have is the circumstances I need: external-obstacle free.

So what can you do when you’re a high achiever who can’t achieve?

I can’t answer that for you. I’m not sure I can even answer it for myself. I can only say one thing for certain: whether optimism or recklessness, I know I’m going to keep trying to do all, get all, and be all that I can be. And I won’t succeed at everything. Maybe I’ll never be the same as those high-achievers who really can, and do, accomplish so much. Or maybe it will just take me much longer, and be much harder. Maybe I’ll only ever get one thing really, really right. I can’t know. I just can’t give up, either.

Call me a fool, call me a failure, call me hopelessly naive. For better or worse, I have the heart of a high-achiever. If I can do something, I will. And if I can’t…well, I might just do it anyway.