Does striving for perfectionism make you happier? Does losing weight to the point you feel so empty and cold, that your thoughts are numb from pain, make you happier? Are there not any other reasons to smile and accept that happiness comes from within, not by what others think of us?
Humans are indulged in achieving perfectionism and believing in the illusion of what the media portrays to be their happiness but what we cannot see from this, is that it is all wrong. Our internal demon is trapped in the vortex of negative thoughts that circulate our minds, feeding us with such self-bitterness that we turn against our unique beauty inside. We interpret our flaws as pathetic and imbecile, unaware that our body’s masterpiece is a perfect work of art which we must cherish and resolve to love, rather than hate.
My demon is still inside my mind, chasing and sucking out any positivity I have left in me with a sense of fear and guilt of being imperfect. I cannot see still see the true definition of ‘perfect’. In fact, even now, my vortex is still swirling, pleading me to lose weight, drive forwards in my schooling life with straight As. Was this happiness? Was this what I seek in life? Was I just a shadow, drenched solely in my self-hatred, mocking every flaw I had with such bitterness that I have turned my body image into a piece of scrap? Was I not perfect, like I would say of others?
I wanted to be thin. Thin as the models that were showcased on the shelves, with toned legs and a flat stomach. A lean figure was what I craved for but was this, the epitome of modern beauty standards, my true happiness? Was skinny the asset to my definition of ‘perfect’? What is the definition of perfect? Was to be skinny? Was it to have pretty eyes? Elegant nose? Smooth skin? Lack of dark circles?
No. I hated myself to the extreme that I fell into the trap of the demon, my eating disorder. I would go on for days, skipping three meals a day but succumbed by my parents to eat dinner. My strict routine of dieting and exercising, as means of burning off any calories I had consumed that day, was what I strive to succeed in order to be skinny. I never saw myself the way others saw me. Skinny was the equivalent to religion for me. I thought being skinny was healthy but I was wrong. Very very wrong.
When could I have full love and respect for my body without having to look in the mirror and grimace? When could I stop my obsession with calorie intake, excessive running and an unhealthy infatuation with fitspo? When could I be me again? Not the demon inside my vortex of negativism? When could I accept that being perfect does not mean to be what society tells?
Being perfect is not something that we can fulfill because we are already perfect. Being perfect is to be comfortable with how we look and that only comes through our acceptance that we are all beautiful in each and every unique way.
Don’t let that demon get to you, warrior.