Easing up just a little on my perfectly imperfect soul.. ⏯️🛎

You ever have those aspects of yourself that you’re not entirely sure are a good thing? Well I do, at least. Lots of them actually. I’ve got this specific one that I wouldn’t consider the most obvious or detectable to those who know me but don’t get to spend enough time around me to be able to pick up the said trait. For someone closer, in this case my sister who’s also my roommate has grown accustomed to it and isn’t quite fond of it. In regards to it, it makes me the Debbie Downer sister, the most up tight, the less spontaneous, oh, and the worrier too… I wouldn’t really say that I hate this specific aspect of myself fully, it grounds me to an extent and anyways, I’m only regarding it now as a flaw on the occasional times when I wish it didn’t restrain me as immensely as it does… Okay okay, enough of the beating around the bush nonsense and I’ll get right to just saying exactly what it is this said aspect of myself is. I believe that in lay man’s language, what I’ve got going on is the character aspect of a perfectionist. I’m not 100% sure whether in most cases, one’s actions that may fall under the bracket of a perfectionist are excusable entirely and whether it eliminates one from some form of fault. This isn’t to mean that wrong actions are meant to be absolved just cause one couldn’t help their perfectionist nature… and now I’m getting derailed from what I initially meant to write in regard to this insistent need of mine to do everything by the book…back to focus.

Take for example, my last statement right there. It’s absolutely okay that I write whatever comes to mind and not feel like it’s some crime I’ve committed that requires some form of punishment from god knows who or what. I’ve said it to myself before that I wish I could make my writing absolutely spontaneous but despite trying to keep up with that notion, minutes before I was able to write all this down here, I couldn’t help myself but scribble down a few highlights on this exact topic in the fear that I’d screw it up if I left it to the fate of my mind to remember exactly what my line of thought was at the very beginning. Pardon me if I hardly sound like I’m making any sense. Technically, my incessant need to have everything in some prime and proper version of things does piss on my parade a lot more than I’d like to admit.

Do you know what’s most absurd about it to me in regard to this, it’s the crazy notion in my mind that’s convinced of some form of reprimand in the case that things aren’t done in the ‘rightful’ manner. My conscious mind believes that whatever action that’s to be undertaken, if slightly bent from its set out route of focus, there will be life changing repercussion…Maybe in some cases, there might stand the chance of the odds being in favour of things needing to be done exactly as they are supposed to be done but on the off chance that the world won’t end if I don’t do things all perfect, it makes it direly impossible to have spontaneity ever happen to me. I cannot begin to elaborate just how much of this aspect of myself is fully embedded in me. It’s in everything little thing I can think of that I do. From the way I talk, to the way I carry myself around in front of people, to the way I arrange my things in my wardrobe, to the way I write… It goes on and on. It’s even trickled down to a hobby that’s absolutely supposed to relax me and completely take the edge off which is what has led me to being here and writing it down. Colouring. Yes, you read that right. I recently started colouring and had been yearning to do it for a while now because I thought to myself, why not, seems like it would be quite fun and it would bring the carefree child in me out a little bit more, to reminisce on easier times in life through bringing colour to portraits & pictures. But guess what, even that had to get trampled over by my need to do things right… I was just colouring a while ago and I couldn’t help but feel upset that I wasn’t colouring one of the pictures in my colouring book exactly as the object usually is in reality. When I first started, I’d insist on checking exactly what colours a certain picture was so that I’d colour exactly in the same manner. Rather than embracing the spontaneity of creating my own art in colour, I was anxious that by some random chance, someone would pick up my colouring book and question me for not colouring respectively as it should be. The whole point of me colouring was never to seek out perfection but despite that, I can’t seem to shake off the idea that everything needs to fall exactly into its right place or in this case, its right colour.

Like I said, to some extent, I’ve grown accustomed to it because without a doubt, I’ve never been one to live on the edge of life. I’ve always played things safe, never to purposely or intentionally rock the boat. Being a perfectionist has helped somewhat calm my raging anxiety over things beyond my control though it is also technically built on the very said anxiety. I truly believe that if I was less of an anxious person, I’d be more relaxed, maybe Zen even. Maybe then, I’d care less about the fear of an absurd repercussion than trying to have everything fall into its proper place. I’m sadly a real major stickler for order and despite how much I’d wish to change that, I think it’s best to admit that it will take a whole lot to rid me of what can be now termed second nature to me. Gotta admit though, I wish my mind, soul and body would just go with the flow you know… Sore away with the wind, wherever it may take me without the fear of a possible anxiety attack. What can I say, it’d be nice to have my own nature try not wring the breath out of my neck in the face of a little imperfection.

P. s This here is a picture of my current remotely acceptable coloured picture, not sure whether it’s a smurf or a gnome but I wanna hope that it’s colours match those acceptable to the gods of perfectionism. 😌

..another P.S …So apparently, from Pinterest quotes, it’s not at all a good thing to be a perfectionist. It’s very flawed seemingly. I’m not here to justify it’s good or bad aspects, maybe just to reflect on its disadvantage a little, at least when it’s not being life threatening.

Have y’all heard sandcastles by Beyonce… My God isn’t that song beautiful. It honestly is my current all time favourite. Beyonce being the QUEEN she is, is my ultimate favorite artist in the world. That’s the one cliché aspect of myself I don’t feel allergic to. She means a whole lot to me and explaining the impact of her importance to my life would honestly be an unfortunate waste of time…cause I barely understand it myself on most days…but that wasn’t where my line of thought was or is at this precise moment, no. It just so happened that I was listening to her song sandcastles and I came to the realization that I’ve not been in love with anyone for close to over five years.. It’s safe to say I’m still relatively young to be alarmed over the fact that I’ve not had my heart fall majorly head over heels over someone. Listening to the song sorta put me into the mindset of whether the love expressed in the song, through the lyrics could ever be existent in the ever constantly chaotic pattern I call life.

Not that it worries me if I’ll ever fall in love. I in my own twisted sense sorta still have hope of meeting someone who I’ll actually fully believe when they say they will stick around long enough to be by my side even despite my insistent need to push people away. This being said, I have felt what I’d call a resemblance of falling in love but I was highly naive then & probably sorta still are. I don’t think the naivety ever really leaves when one cares that deeply for anyone. That’s why I truly do believe love makes one extremely stupid rather than weak. But again, what do I know…

In the midst of the current chaos going on in my life, I’ve had to purposely chose to keep off from feeling anything remotely love related to anyone of the opposite sex. I honestly don’t think anyone should have to have my mental instabilities as anything burden like on their shoulders. A friend of mine suggested that I should have fucked the depression out of me by now but I was certain that wouldn’t have technically worked… Haha. Not that I have anything against the idea.

To be truly honest, when it comes to my mental battles, I have never really believed that a problem shared is a problem half solved.. This being the case in terms of bringing in a significant other (s/o) to my life. It’s tough enough that explaining the ‘workings’ or ‘non-workings’ of my mind to anyone who’s never experienced a similar battle is borderline impossible. Bringing anyone to an understanding that I’m not always ‘normal ‘ is probably the hardest thing I’ve had to experience through out my journey with mental health. This inclusive of family & friends. Therefore, I see no need to antagonize myself by allowing myself to be emotionally vulnerable enough to bring in a s/o into my already complicated life. I don’t doubt that some of those who care enough would wanna stick around but for how long would they need to survive my turmoil before it gets the better of them… It’s not easy being on the other side, being the one having to show strength for a loved one who is in constant battles with their mind.

So for now, I think I’ve settled myself with the fact that love might not necessarily be in the picture for me in terms of having someone to share my burdens with. I just don’t have the capability to handle something as crucial as a relationship. At least not until I have a remote sense of stability that is constant & not wavering every so often. It sucks since I can’t help but wonder how it’d feel to have someone by my side. I do wish I was selfish enough to want to have the kind of love that expresses itself through thick & thin but I don’t trust myself not to hurt whoever it is who’s willing to take such a big risk as to date me. Maybe in another time in my life when I’ll have a better hold of my battles but as for now, I’m content with it being just me and my battles.

After all this time, I cannot pin point of everything that possibly sets my heart on fire. I’m certain though that it should be something that has my heart racing & my adrenaline pumping. At least that’s what I believe I feel when I’m in that head space where I’m peacefully chaotic and excited over an overwhelming feeling. We all have that something that tips you over ;that has you feeling euphoric.

Music sets my heart on fire.. Cliche’ really but I’ve gotta be normal in some form, right?? So yeah… When you get that jam that hits your soul to the root and it just sorta drowns you in it & virtually brings you into a different mental dimension where it’s just you & the lyrics of the song & the rhythm that just makes you feel like you’re floating… We all probably have geners of music we all feel we relate to and that hits different from the rest. Could be rock, indie music, jazz, opera, hip-hop, soul, country …I for sure can drown in country music & aesthetic soul music.. the latter being where I truly feel like I’m in my truest form of nature. Technically, for those who can’t necessarily pin point what kind of music it is I’m rambling about is in lame man’s language, depressing music. Music that mellows one out and has one completely feeling chill & melancholic. Yes, it’s sad but I can’t help myself. 😅

Not to delve further into any the ‘depressive shit’ in my life ..I know I never talk about my canvas often but I love the feeling or in this case, the high I get from getting new ink. It’s euphoric for me to go through the entire process of feeling it skim through my skin and form a beautiful artistic reminder of something significant to me. But for this year, I chose to take a time off on getting anymore ink, for more or less personal reasons…as I said before, there’s not much that I can say truly sets my soul on fire but I’ve come to learn that it doesn’t have to necessarily be common or good. I’ve spoken before about my affiliation to pain and I know it hardly makes sense to anyone. I wouldn’t necessarily say it’s meant to make sense but it sorta does for me. I don’t wanna have to delve into my reasons for why pain doesn’t always have to be wrong. I’ve survived through it, I believe it’s been a part of me long enough for me to say it’s not easy to detach from. It puts me at a crossroads where it’s not easy to feel. It’s heavy, It weighs on you. Then there’s a similar though different part of me that just is drawn to it. It’s a hard concept to wrap around in one’s mind of how anyone would be drawn to it.

Looking at my past now, I understand in my own twisted way why in it’s own sense it’s appealing and such a drowning feeling. This at all isn’t meant to glorify self harm in any shape or form. That is an entirely different spectrum of pain that isn’t pretty & holds no pride at all….Do I wish I didn’t feel this drawn to it, not really. You can call a consolation that those nitty-gritty aspects of myself are what have built the character & personality I have. It may not be conventional or the norm but as the saying goes, normal sucks.

I need to quit trying to find more complicated reasons as to why I’m special. I just fucking am!!!!!!! . I’ll proclaim that here & now when my pheromones aren’t raging depressed so yeah,…Forgive my opening rant and how hard I came off but I’m not honestly sorry since I kinda need to get it out there a lot more often so I don’t have those constant mind relapses that have me thinking I’m anything less than an amazing human being.Woot Woot!! I like the head space I’m at writing this; probably won’t be feeling much of the same in a few minutes but what the heck right? It’s here now, the least I can do is revel in it.

There are days where I’ve thought that I’d need to have a change of scenery for me to feel special and it fails miserably right after I walk out of the door of my destination. It’s such a constant competition with myself to see when I can most please myself & when I can be my greatest Debbie Downer. Even as a child, I always thought that I’d probably get a lot more recognition & affection from others if our life long dream to go to the States came true. Just to answer the possible question in your minds ,that ship sorta sank ages ago. For the longest time I knew I’d stop being invincible the day I boarded that plane to America and I’d never feel anything short of adored. The bummer in this case is two things, first, I never got to go to the states at all, practically grew out of the fantasy that it’d happen & the second is I’m still a thirsty bitch for affection years later. Not sure where the inadequacy for things came up in my life, probably from the one major tragedy of my life *smiling like a creep.

I shouldn’t revel in how fucked up I am but I do.. Gotta problem with it , I don’t give two shits about it.. It’s my specialty. It’s what I’m good at. I hope that one day I’m able to put it to damn good use and probably then, I’ll have a lot of fake love being thrown off in my direction. At least I hope that writing about how effed up things get in my life will have me earning something substantial after I publish a best seller…

Why on earth is getting a baby such a damn expensive deal..!!Don’t judge me for wanting to bring a child into this life but as random as this last paragraph will be, I wanna get a child so bad *cue the fake water works and temper tantrum… Besides my fear that I may not be the best example of a responsible self loving mother ,you know with the cutting and all, God I’m a sorry excuse of a person, I shouldn’t want a child as terribly as I do. Sadly though, I don’t consider myself stupid enough to get knocked up now, I’d have my mum rolling over in her grave, that’s if she’s not already done so with how reckless my life’s gotten…anyway, I plan to feel more special next year. I may not know where to start on it but I’m going to sure as hell try to feel like a substantial human being.

So yesterday I did something very bold. I term it as bold because of how unconventional it was & risky since it would have turned out very invasive to some. I’m actively on Instagram & I was going through my followers instagram stories & I came across a picture of a girl’s arm that had marks on it. She actually wasn’t taking the picture of her arm, it just so happened her arm made a cameo and I just happened to see it. I wouldn’t say I was being observant, it was like a glance that led me to contemplating whether confirming my suspicions of what the marks were was a smart thing to do… Let’s just, my conscience didn’t fail me. That was last night and I was sure to include in my dm to her that she was at all under no obligation to answer back to me. I know I would be a bit skeptical opening up about anything remotely mental related to a stranger. Today morning when I woke up, it had completely eluded my mind that I’d sent her a message, that’s until I saw my message icon ping that I had an unread message. She was honest enough to acknowledge that what I’d seen was indeed self harm marks. Getting to the point of this story, (not really sure there’s one) , it was uncomfortable seeing them on someone else other than myself, but I twistedly felt connected to her by her self inflicted marks on her hand. I felt the bond of having another understand that one is capable of being a mess enough to hurt themselves. It was relieving but sad. I quit feeling sorry for myself after the first time I cut , I no longer chose to see it as a fault but as a survival coping mechanism. It’s just different because I relish in the feel of a cold blade to get some damn needed peace of mind.

Not too long ago I had a friend of mine frown upon the fact that I recently got a new tattoo. He’s exact question was ‘You enjoying hurting yourself with this tattoos?‘ He didn’t realize how close to home he hit by asking me that… In my own twisted way, I love the feeling of the needle skim through my skin, it’s just that this time, I’m left with a beautiful artistic reminder of things that mean more to me than others. They are the murals to those I love and to the times in my life I can never seem to erase from my mind. They are my stories, I just receive the both ends of the stick when I get them, the pain that comes with getting them, and the artistic beauty created.

It amazes me how I can never seem to let go of my mental struggles even when I’m not in the gutter . I can’t cut loose the strong hold at which I hold them close to me & how much relevance I constantly give them. I’ve written before that I felt special being ill, I felt like I belonged being depressed & fucked up generally. It gave me a sense of purpose. I was constantly sad & I got to write the best of my blogs while in that funk. Call it fear of the unknown, which in this case is anything that’s remotely good and happy… that damn H word I never seem to like very much. I just can’t grasp myself not unhappy & miserable. No need to pity me, I don’t pity me either. The most surprising thing is, despite not wanting good change, I feel inadequate for depression. I feel like I sometimes lack the magnitude needed to be special enough to be depressed. Like I can’t just catch a break with the inadequacies in my life ; I’m just not cut out for happiness or depression . Really beats the point of why I got my damn enough tattoo in the first place. I need to find a bearing of where I belong, in the darkness or the overly bright light .

Tonight I wasn’t really writing as a means to vent, I guess I just needed to release myself a little. I had a relatively good day, went out to a lovely ice cream parlor in town that touched my old soul. It’s entire vibe and setting was the eighties and it’s ice cream was as legit as legit can be. I honestly didn’t wanna leave because for those few minutes I was there ,the world around me seemed right and peaceful… content even. I wanted to stick there and live on ice cream for as long as my mind chooses it’s ready to go back to our sad reality… Sno – Cream parlor was my heaven in hell…

Ever felt connected to someone in the most absurd sense. I’ve always felt that whenever listening to Selena Gomez. Today, I have had the privilege to listen to a beautiful song that’s touched my very wrecked up soul. I can’t even begin to explain how connected I’ve felt listening to her new hit, Loose you to love me. I’ve never done this before where I wrote about someone else other than myself and the fucked up baggage I come with. My heart feels lighter just listening to it and it’s so beautiful and so raw. That’s why I’ve always loved her and her music. Maybe because I know she’s struggled previously with mental health and we are ‘connected’ through our struggles. So if y’all get the chance, listen to that song, if it doesn’t touch your heart ,you sure as hell don’t have one. 😳

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