self-realisation #1

this is me declaring that i have a perfectionist complex.

it’s not a backhanded compliment to myself either. i’m always looking to change, to ‘improve’. i look for perfection in piles of unworn clothes on my bedroom floor. i create it by digitally altering my own face, sculpting away at my jaw and plumping my lips. if i could swipe away my pimples and pores in real life i wouldn’t hesitate.

i watched an old video of me laughing at a concert and the only thing i noticed was how misshapen and irregular my teeth are whenever i smile. i look in the mirror and grab at my thighs as if they were clay. wishing i could pull fistfuls of fat from my body, smooth over the stretchmarks that mar my skin. all the while i tell myself that if i just ate less, if i just used creams and oils, if i just wasn’t me..i’d be a better person.

deep down, i think i want validation. i want to be noticed for being exceptional in something, because i never had that growing up. instead i was told explicitly that i “needed to change”, i was too loud, too argumentative, too much. i needed to make myself smaller. i needed to think about everything i said because it was important that other people liked me. and somewhere, deep down, that personality of my childhood is still in here. it erupts sometimes, whenever i stand up for myself, yet all these years later the message is still the same: dumb yourself down, stop making a fuss. you’re being difficult.

now, everything has to be planned. if i’m going out i have to know times, dates, locations, people, what we’ll be doing, everything, so that i can’t make any mistakes. i google the end of tv shows and movies whilst i’m watching them, so i can anticipate any plot twists or jump scares. i don’t play card games or the like with anyone who i’m not comfortable with, because i hate not understanding things and looking stupid. i look for rules in everything and then i feel bound by them upon discovery.

spontaneity is but a myth to me.

but no matter how much i change, it’s never enough. what does perfection look like? i don’t know what i’m aspiring to be. yet i keep shedding old versions of me, creating new ones in my wake. it’s like trying to carve a mountain out of sand, futile and endless. i am tired of chiselling away at myself – soon there will be nothing left to shape.

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