Perfectly Imperfect

Going crazy is both humbling and a relief.

On one hand, it's embarrassing because you spiral deeper and deeper out of control until you get to a place where you don't even recognize yourself; but on the other? What a burden to be lifted- to know that you're not perfect, you don't have to be, and it's ridiculous to try.

Where do we get this notion that everything is supposed to be shiny and beautiful and happy 100% of the time? We don't live our lives as a fucking Pinterest page. There's no Better Homes & Gardens photographer following us around, detailing our every move and mistake. The truth isn't always pretty, sometimes it's ugly and raw and horrible and you can't dump a truckfull of glitter on a piece of shit to hide the smell.

It's hard going crazy. The inner battle, surrendering yourself to the abuse you've created in your mind: "You're unworthy of love." "You're too much." "Nobody could put up with your shit." The silent, and not so silent words you've heard your entire life. Getting to a place where you just say, "Fuck it. Who cares? I'll never be good enough, so why even bother?" isn't just destructive, it's liberating. Because really, you CAN'T be perfect, and you'll never live up to these insane expectations you've placed upon yourself.

Maybe everybody needs to go off the rails once in their life. Run wild in the grass. Know that eventually the people that love them will help guide them back on track, and it's ok to let them. It's ok to need other people. It's ok to be scared and weak sometimes.