Of course we want perfection. We want the best picture, best job, best hair.
But perfection is when you see his crooked teeth beyond the gap of his smile. It’s the scar on your arm from where you fell out of a tree at age eight. The way you hold your fork the wrong way and the phobia you’ve hid for so long. It’s the way your moms voice echoes through the house and the family bickers on Christmas day. It’s the times someone stutters mid sentence, the times you fall asleep on the phone. It’s the way you snore in your sleep when you dream of perfection. But what society won’t tell you, is that perfection is imperfection and imperfection is perfect.
I’m sorry you got caught in the wrath of a troubled, self-destructive girl. I’m sorry you were the one to grab my hand, just as I was falling off the edge. You marked my insecurities and took advantage of my unhealthy habits. You knew how I cringed at the whisper of a compliment. I lost comfort when your hands reached for mine and I surrendered my ability to defend myself, time after time. You used my moments of weakness against me. Insisting I was the reason we would never work. It’s a relief you’re behind me. I know I didn’t lose my prince charming. In our fairytale, you were the Jester and I was simply the joke.
Maybe if you didn’t eat that slice of pizza, you’d be skinnier. Maybe if you put out on the first date, he’d be your boyfriend. Maybe if you got an A on that test in the tenth grade, you’d be an honourable scholar. The shirt you worse last Tuesday was hideous, the tweet you thought was hilarious, wasn’t and the text you thought was adorable, was far from.
When we list our flaws and analyze our past, we miss the bigger, the better. We will never accept that our mistakes make us who we are, and maybe we shouldn’t. They don’t always teach us and they don’t always make us better. Our mistakes are exactly that. Our wrong doings, our faults. We should look at our mistakes as the things we take for granted, the things we need to appreciate because to others, our mistakes are something worth aspiring to.
There’s a million things to go wrong whether it’s the sickness you get or the bones you break. The hearts you loose or the jobs you can’t do. Some days the gym will be too many steps and the weekend will be too many sleeps. Your dreams will be impossible and the future will seem so dark.
But like we don’t know why love stops, we know why it starts and like we don’t know why we die, we know why we live. We can’t look ahead without looking around. We can’t possibly appreciate the ground until we’re too close to the ledge. We can’t seem to decide if it’s worth stepping on the edge or stepping off.
I wish I could blame you for the mess I’ve become. I would blame you for the times I laid on my cold, wooden floors. Curled in a ball with crippling thoughts. I would blame you for the nine a.m’s you made me miss, the days in bed you made me have. For the hours spent wishing I was someone else. The time I spent hidden beneath who I am.
I would blame you for the times I believed your lies. The times you pulled me close and kissed my forehead, promising a future in us. For showing me a sadness I didn’t know possible. A sadness I didn’t know how to survive.
I would blame you because I could forgive you before I ever forgave myself.
They tell you to discover yourself. They tell you to find the true meaning of life, the reason behind your being, but it’s all downhill from there. Once you dissect the bigger picture, hold awareness for the danger, the true pain life sets us up for; it’s hard to go back. It’s hard to live the same. You realize purpose is simply an illusion. There is no purpose like there is no promise. There is no finish line beyond the struggles; there is no sense of pride that death can’t concur. It’s time you find reason. It’s time you start living, ’cause once you start looking for death, you will never find life.
You have personality traits you struggle to find in other people. Your witty comments surface as arrogance, leaving others to make false judgment. You have a constant sense of awareness, always keeping tabs on your surroundings and the crowd within it. You can find the escape route, the worst-case scenario or the most convincible reason to leave any situation.
You live in your mind so you’re aware of every word, every breath, every thought that plays pong on the walls of your brain. You fixate over the few things that interest you and are forced to battle the daily struggle of self-betterment. You have a sense of frustration for people whose qualities clash with yours. You lack patience. You lack restraint. You feel different because you are, and how exhausting it is to keep being misunderstood.
You’re scared of the people who are going to let you down, kill your dreams and cause you pain. You’re scared of real emotions. The weight of heartache and the misery we must tolerate when we can no longer find sense. You cheat yourself from life because you’re convinced reality is worth hiding from. Reality is no more then a fire we can’t put out.
This proves you know so little. You’re a coward hoping to numb rejection. Hoping to feel no more then the sting of a paper cut. There are amazingly painful emotions we must learn to survive. You need to get out of your own way, out of your own mind and see you’re not alone. You’re surrounded by people who bleed red, whose hands shake, whose voices are laced with fear. Embrace the mess you are and the madness in your head. Be so excited you’re scared and so scared you’re excited. Be so afraid your vision blurs and all you see is pain worth feeling.
You can’t believe the world can look 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 teens 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 it would. You do everything to hide your imperfections. To erase the things you hate. To battle the impurities you hide behind day after day.
Don’t burden a beautiful mind with ugly thoughts. You’re more then a number on the scale. More then a number of likes on a picture. Be proud to be a paint-by-number and they’ll still look at you like art.
You sit in your embarrassment. Helplessly watching your actions slip through good judgement. You say words you regret, make decisions you wish you didn’t and self-sabotage your reputation. Even after you accept your weakness and after you promise you’ve changed, the damage is done and there’s no going back. Maybe they’ll forgive you, pretend those years didn’t happen, those mistakes aren’t yours to own up to, but despite what we want to believe, we live in the shadows of our uncomfortable pasts.