"perfectionism is based on the obsessive belief that if you run carefully enough, hitting each stepping-stone just right, you won't have to die. the truth is that you will die anyway and that a lot of people who aren't even looking at their feet are going to do a whole lot better than you, and have a lot more fun whilst they're doing it."
-unknown
Perfection;
noun
the action or process of improving something until it is faultless.
Perfection; a word I had heard said many times around me, yet not too me.
And I was a perfectionist, oh god, was I a perfectionist.
My career, my work, my notes had to be perfection.
My house, my furniture, my clothes had to be perfection.
My family, my friends, my fiancé had to be 'perfection'.
Which as human beings are flawed creatures just like all other living creatures on this earth, could not be.
But they had to be.
To the point it was driving me insane.
Mentally, emotionally, physically, insane.
So I distanced myself.
From them, from people as a whole, from the imperfect world.
I was itching to get my hands on and renovate the whole place, but alas that could not be.
Distance, kept me away.
But I could not distant myself away from myself.
Cameras, mirrors, glass reflections always gave me a glimpse of myself.
Plastic surgery, is a blessing.
I was hoping to gain a new face, a face of perfection.
That could meet up to my standards.
Whatever they throughly were, I wasn't sure myself.
All I knew is that I needed, I thrived for, I was even lusting for; perfection.
So when of course I heard of plastic surgery, what a blessing I thought it truly was.
I could only do so much, in order to create myself into the perfect human being.
But having re construct my face on top of all that.
A blessing.
Picking up the phone to book a consultation appointment had my hands shaking, trembling from excitement.
When arriving, my legs were the next to be overwhelmed from the ecstasy. Explaining the desired aesthetic physical structure outcome to be just what I had always dreamed of, perfection.
After meeting the patient coordinator my voice pitched higher than normal, the enthusiasm rushing through my lungs helping me to gain sweet oxygen to breath in and out.
The pre-operative visit had me anticipated beyond relief, asking me to sign documents, files upon files.
Consent.
I had already consented my life towards my one goal of perfection.
Beautiful, wouldn't cut it. Pretty, just wouldn't cut it. And I was told these phrases many times.
"Why waste a pretty face such as yours"
It was never,
"Why waste a face of perfection such as yours.
3 weeks left.
2 weeks left.
1 week left.
7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2...
1.
And the day was here, I was willing to throw my life towards you, I had already abandoned my family, my friends, my fiancé for you.
Perfection. If you're willing to accept me.
Perfection.
Breaking, ripping, injecting.
Swelling, shrinking, fixing.
Staying over for one night, two nights, three.
Bandages covering my face, my chest, everywhere.
I was aloud to be sent home.
One nights, two nights, three.
The bandages were off.
The slight bruises and puffy-ness were said to go down in a month or two.
I didn't want to look until then.
I didn't want to see myself until I was perfection.
1 week, 2 weeks, 3 weeks 4.
1 week, 2 weeks, 3 weeks 4.
I was ready.
All this time I had avoided looking in a camera, a mirror or even a glass reflection.
But now I was ready, the swelling was meant to have gone down.
I was meant to now be perfection.
The mirror stood in front of me, towering over me, mocking me. My eyes fluttering open, my breath hitching in my throat, my nails digging slightly into the palms of my hands and...
Regret.
———————————————————————
Perfection; a word I had heard said many times around me, yet not too me.
Never, to me.
Perfection a blessing I would never cease to have.
•Imperfect•
