If you looked in a dictionary written by strangers, you would find my name written as the definition of perfect.
If you looked in a thesaurus written by my friends, you would find my name synonymous to compassionate, beautiful, athletic, intelligent, amusing.
If you looked in an encyclopedia written by my family, all of my accomplishments would be tediously documented, their praise taking up pages and pages and pages.
But they’re all wrong. I. Will. Never. Be. What. They. Say. I. Am.
If I looked in the mirror, I would find a boring, repulsive, ignorant girl staring back at me. And that is what scares me.
So I am going to be perfect, or at least die trying.
