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The Concept of "Perfect" is Fake, Except for When it Comes to Me

June 12, 2023

      I want to watch all the movies and read all the books and know everything and work hard and make money and carve out a pretty life and hang out with my friends and laugh and cry and dance and write and rest and feel something, but all I do is pity myself. All I do is work and come home and look at my dirty room and read a bit of my book but also scroll way too much on Instagram reels and feel bored but also overwhelmed by the amount of choices on Netflix and get annoyed with my mom and feel bad about spending too much money and feel worse about eating too many carbs, because all I want is more of the time i'm wasting. And I'm so paralyzed by this fact, so paralyzed by my own neurosis, that I fail at every goal I set, and then blame the world around me. 

      It's not my fault I can't do everything. It's not my fault I can't work full time, and go to the gym, and put on a cute outfit when I get home rather than pyjamas, and read the philosophy book that's been collecting dust on my shelf for 2 years, and learn all of art history, and also read every single trending fantasy romance book, and watch every great movie ever made, and learn the entire history of feminism, and also text all of my friends back, and say yes to plans spontaneously, and keep my room clean and hang out with my parents and get 8 hours of sleep and make a scrapbook and work on a zine and work on myself a little bit and meditate and say affirmations in the mirror. It's really not my fault. Who the fuck would actually be able to do all of that in one summer. But what is my fault is letting the unrealistic expectations I have for myself get the best of me. The real monster in this situation is the rigidity in which I conduct my life. Not the fact that society is structured in a way that doesn't allow for much free time. 

      Because the reality is that the deep, hot, anger I sometimes feel, or the consuming, endless sadness isn't wholly due to external circumstances. It is not the world's fault I chose to work full time this summer. It is not the world's fault I can't get out of bed sometimes. It is not the world's fault that I derive my self worth from following rules I randomly make up for myself. It's especially not the world's fault that I continuously let social media manipulate me, my expectations, and perception of society; which makes me feel jealous that everyone I follow seems to have way more free time, and subsequently are making way better use of their 20's than I am. 

      I can't have everything at once. I can't expect myself to know every single thing at 22. I can't demand the world out of myself, especially because I have always been a tired person. Wanting to know the world is just fine. Wanting to feel like myself everyday, and do things consistently that make me feel whole is a great thing. But being disappointed in myself for not being “perfect”, and not constantly moving at a million miles an hour, is a horrible way to live. Comparing my life to others constantly is a horrible place to be in. What I'm realizing more and more is that perfectionism is the breeder of my dissatisfaction. For someone who believes that contentment is the meaning of life- this is really fucking sad. It seems that I have always allowed myself to be ruled by the expectations of my perfectionism, like my subconscious actively works to make me miserable. The next logical step is to say I need to be kinder to myself. That I definitely need to let go a little bit. 

      Something I know damn well about myself however, is that I struggle with change. I struggle to not take life extremely seriously. But, the silver lining is that as they famously say, the first step to fixing a problem is admitting you have one. The first step to change is true, no more excuses, unchallenged, awareness.

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