Every day, I put on a mask to conceal the brokenness that lies beneath the surface. I smile when I want to cry, laugh when I want to scream, pretending to be someone I'm not in order to meet the expectations of others. Friends, family, strangers — they all expect me to be perfect, to have it all together, to never show any sign of weakness or vulnerability. After all, who am I to not be perfect? Who am I to show my broken parts, to reveal the cracks in my carefully constructed facade? I plaster on a smile, smoothing out the wrinkles of pain and sorrow that threaten to mar my carefully cultivated image of perfection. I bury my insecurities and doubts deep within, afraid to let anyone see the raw, unfiltered truth of who I really am.
I must have perfect grades, perfect looks, perfect manners — anything less is simply unacceptable. I must be like a doll, beautiful and flawless on the outside, while inside, I am hollow and empty, devoid of any true sense of self. Because who am I to not be perfect, to dare to show my broken parts to a world that demands nothing less than perfection?
But the truth is, I am tired. Tired of pretending, tired of wearing this mask of perfection day in and day out. I long to strip away the layers, to reveal the raw, imperfect truth that lies beneath. But I am afraid, afraid of what others will think, afraid of being judged and rejected for showing my true self.
Tell me, what love would still be given when I am no longer the picture-perfect image of success that you so desperately crave?
YOU ARE READING
BEGONE
Non-FictionTW: SA, SH DEPRESSION, ABUSE In which a collection of words where a certain person struggles with the weight of her own suffering, we see her fall deeper and deeper into despair with every page turn. From the first signs of trauma to the nagging af...
