Sometimes I'm scared that I'm not perfect. I'm scared that even though the world is an imperfect place that I, myself, have not reached the standards I have made for myself. I am worried that I'm not good enough and that in the end I will inevitably fail.
And I ask myself... what's perfect? In the mind of a perfectionist it's much more than just a word. It's a mindset that you must do and say and move a certain way. That is how the world must be. Exact.
I find myself bound by the thought of perfection. Bound by the unwritten rules inside my mind that everything I do must be precisely beautiful in every way.
Even just a single word must be over-analyzed until it's so worn out it falls apart before my eyes. At that point is when I realize that I'm worrying myself so sick that my stomach has turned into a million knots and that raging sea inside myself has crashed a thousand times against my heart., weakening it just a little more.
And sometimes I wonder how long I can take the pressure. The pressure building up inside of me. I wonder what will happen when I've reached my breaking point and how much it will hurt when I snap in two.
And then the minute hand flies into another day that brings me a new train of thought. That maybe I just can't be perfect. And that sometimes you must let yourself go. You must untie the ropes of perfection that hold you down and fly away from the thoughts that you must be a certain way. That sometimes you just need to close your eyes and fall off the ledge you have climbed upon and let yourself fall into the unknown.
Sometimes I'm scared that I'm not perfect. But now I see that sometimes... imperfection is beautiful.
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