You can’t believe the world looks at you any different then the way your mirror does. Your self-image sits as a devil on your shoulder, whispering critique and hate.
You lay your clothes out the night before, shopping at the same stores they do. You buy extra promising foundation, hoping the haunting remains of your teen years will soak into your skin. Your hair won’t grow the way you want it to, your body won’t shape your clothes the way you wish they would.
You do everything to hide your imperfections. To erase the things you hate. To battle the impurities you hide behind, day after day.As hard as it is to believe, you’re more then a number on the scale. More then a number of likes on a picture. So be proud to be a paint-by-number and they’ll still look at you like art.
The pain isn’t permanent. It goes away as graceful as the sky fills with colour after a storm. As temporary as a pavement of chalk beneath rain. So don’t worry. Once today’s pain is yesterdays, you’ll be given a clean slate to make a mess.
Live your days like stepping stones, as if it’s the only path you have. You’ll gain balance and strength with each stride and live life with no desire to look back. One day, you’ll be so fortunate you pushed through and only then will you see, why the path you had to take, brought to you to where it did.
We want to be the main character with a promising storyline and lovable flaws, but too often, we are the villains. Too often do we give ourselves the poisonous apple. We turn a gun on the people in our way and willingly put on the mask to taunt the damsel in distress that is ourselves. We walk away, head held high as everything we know burns in a dramatic explosion, for the monsters and daemons, they all live inside us. Our psychological wounds act as the red stain around our lips or the scar above our eye. It acts as the underlining story, making us the self-destructive people we’re ashamed to be.
The less they give the more you want and the farther they are, the closer you get. You can’t seem to understand balance. That life is about finding someone to sit on the other side of the teeter tooter. Someone who you can trust, that won’t let you fall. Someone who will lift you up or help you down but won’t let go.
But in case that seat’s empty, when you’re walking past the park, remember balance is also the ability to stand on your own. Balance is a bike ride, forcing you to move forward in order to stay upright. To understand balance is to finally understand the ability to hold on, or let go, but not fall down.
Any day, any age, any time, you are free to boycott adulthood. You can eat pizza for breakfast and ice cream from the carton. You can pick the marshmallows out of your cereal and dip your finger in Nutella. You can wear one piece pajamas and watch cartoons upside down. You can dance to Disney soundtracks and sing into your mop. You can send a letter to Santa or eat all the Halloween candies you bought. You can spend Friday night on a Twister matt or skip a dinner party to build a fort. Get lost in a toy store or sit in a mess of pom-poms and paint.
You can boycott the bills, the responsibilities, the chores. You can cancel your plans, make some free time, ask can I call you back? You are never to old to turn away from what’s to come and savor what you’ve left. You are never to old to live young, live wild and live free.
Don’t skip dinner with friends or pass on a tall glass of wine. Don’t stand in front of the candles on your Birthday cake, wishing for it to be gone and don’t count down the days to Thanksgiving like you count down the calories until you’re ‘full’. Don’t let the seconds in your day, waste away like the numbers on your scale.
I would love my faults if I believed you ever could but for as long as you hold my hand loose and you let your eyes stray, I will understand beauty to be what they want. I will stand in front of my mirror and suck in my stomach. I will flip celebrity magazines and dream of perfection. I will wake up early to hide the things I hate and I will wrestle with myself, when I can’t be enough.
I will spend the rest of my life dreaming of different and when that day comes, and I am finally ‘right’, I will look at the floor when he tells me my smile’s pretty. I will argue non-stop when he says I’m perfection, because I’ll remember, to you, I wasn’t enough. It’ll take time and it’ll take hurting to one day realize, life isn’t about how you look. It’s about the person looking at you.
Our teen years fixate on the popularity of the girl with pretty long hair and a drinking problem. The jock like boyfriends that will bend over backwards to hold their books and the instant glamour that can be found when accessorizing with pink. It’s the kind of life we hate to want.
We try to make a normal so far from what we know, but it’s a matter of time before we realize people don’t change, they simply can’t. We can fight who we are for as long as we have the strength but eventually it’s inevitable and we give up the act. The twenties come with a lot of hardships, a lot of obstacles we must overcome but while we’re occupied with the more serious problems in life, we forget to pretend to be someone else. There is no better time to embrace who you really are then a time where no one has a clue.