~perfectionism~
It is so hard for me not to doubt myself.
Sometimes I feel lost - as if the world is so big that I am just drowning in an ocean of people who are smarter than me, more attractive than me or more talented than me. I was always taught that if I tried hard, I would get rewarded for my efforts. I try so hard, but always seem to come in second best. At home I came second to Sarah who was louder, more gregarious and more obvious than quiet, nerdy me. In High School I was probably in the top percentile of my classes in terms of effort/achievement - I got good grades, but I didn't really get any satisfaction from them. In my final years of High School they handed out book vouchers for the students that topped the classes - I got the second highest marks in everyone of my classes except biology. I wasn't attractive in High School, I wasn't particularly good at sports (the two things that really seem to matter at High School). My intelligence was the only weapon I had, and I had to work so hard to keep up with those kids who found everything 'easy'.
I didn't love High School. After I graduated I overcame the shackles of plainess by losing weight. The boys who had previously ignored and rejected me as a potential love interest suddenly found me hot (this does very little to perpetuate the idea that life is fair and women are judged on their personalities as opposed to the size of their thighs). I overcame the shackles of shyness by forcing out a personality that was a projection of what I assumed people wanted to see. I became happy/flirtatious/tipsy/sociable/risque/bitchy as easily as I became thin. I don't believe that I am these things. Inside of me, a fat, shy girl is horrified at the outrageous caricature I have become.
Then I get out here. I'm thrust into the real world only to discover that it isn't what I have been promised. It turns out that High School is a microcosm, a dress rehearsal for the Real Deal. For some reason we STILL worship the pretty and athletic. I religiously read NW as if I know the celebrities whose career's the media propels, then shatters. I watch the athletes who are payed millions to put a ball in a hole. I participate because what else am I supposed to do? It doesn't occur to me that celebrity hype and sporting achievements don't really matter. Who cares about which celebrities have lost the most weight? Who cares how fast a guy can run from point A to point B? As if any of these things matter in the big scheme of things? I want to do something that matters. I want to be someone who matters.
In terms of abandonning the pursuits of the fashion and sports-concious, I am not about to fall back on my supposed intelligence. I'm smart. I have a large vocabulary and I am well read, but I am not a genius. Most of my thoughts, and ideas seem unoriginal, hackneyed or intensely morbid. I feel as if I re-hash the same material over and over again. Lets face it, I'm never going to be the best in any fiel. I always assumed that life would be easy, that life would be fair and that we would all wind up happy ever after. Reality check - the only 'ever after' I am going to experience is death. I can't believe that I was, and to an extent, still am trying to come to terms with the fact that my life isn't going to turn out perfect. Perfection is pretty much all I have ever aspired to. I think my problem is that I don't just want to be the best, I want to be the best at everything. I am only just beginning to understand that there is no such thing as perfection.
Perfection is an illusion that is shoved down my throat on a regular basis. People say that: 'No-one is perfect', but the media contradicts this by offering perfection as something that can and should be attained. The more I know about the world, the more I understand - the less I like it.
Anyway - off my soapbox.
Sometimes I feel lost - as if the world is so big that I am just drowning in an ocean of people who are smarter than me, more attractive than me or more talented than me. I was always taught that if I tried hard, I would get rewarded for my efforts. I try so hard, but always seem to come in second best. At home I came second to Sarah who was louder, more gregarious and more obvious than quiet, nerdy me. In High School I was probably in the top percentile of my classes in terms of effort/achievement - I got good grades, but I didn't really get any satisfaction from them. In my final years of High School they handed out book vouchers for the students that topped the classes - I got the second highest marks in everyone of my classes except biology. I wasn't attractive in High School, I wasn't particularly good at sports (the two things that really seem to matter at High School). My intelligence was the only weapon I had, and I had to work so hard to keep up with those kids who found everything 'easy'.
I didn't love High School. After I graduated I overcame the shackles of plainess by losing weight. The boys who had previously ignored and rejected me as a potential love interest suddenly found me hot (this does very little to perpetuate the idea that life is fair and women are judged on their personalities as opposed to the size of their thighs). I overcame the shackles of shyness by forcing out a personality that was a projection of what I assumed people wanted to see. I became happy/flirtatious/tipsy/sociable/risque/bitchy as easily as I became thin. I don't believe that I am these things. Inside of me, a fat, shy girl is horrified at the outrageous caricature I have become.
Then I get out here. I'm thrust into the real world only to discover that it isn't what I have been promised. It turns out that High School is a microcosm, a dress rehearsal for the Real Deal. For some reason we STILL worship the pretty and athletic. I religiously read NW as if I know the celebrities whose career's the media propels, then shatters. I watch the athletes who are payed millions to put a ball in a hole. I participate because what else am I supposed to do? It doesn't occur to me that celebrity hype and sporting achievements don't really matter. Who cares about which celebrities have lost the most weight? Who cares how fast a guy can run from point A to point B? As if any of these things matter in the big scheme of things? I want to do something that matters. I want to be someone who matters.
In terms of abandonning the pursuits of the fashion and sports-concious, I am not about to fall back on my supposed intelligence. I'm smart. I have a large vocabulary and I am well read, but I am not a genius. Most of my thoughts, and ideas seem unoriginal, hackneyed or intensely morbid. I feel as if I re-hash the same material over and over again. Lets face it, I'm never going to be the best in any fiel. I always assumed that life would be easy, that life would be fair and that we would all wind up happy ever after. Reality check - the only 'ever after' I am going to experience is death. I can't believe that I was, and to an extent, still am trying to come to terms with the fact that my life isn't going to turn out perfect. Perfection is pretty much all I have ever aspired to. I think my problem is that I don't just want to be the best, I want to be the best at everything. I am only just beginning to understand that there is no such thing as perfection.
Perfection is an illusion that is shoved down my throat on a regular basis. People say that: 'No-one is perfect', but the media contradicts this by offering perfection as something that can and should be attained. The more I know about the world, the more I understand - the less I like it.
Anyway - off my soapbox.