You think I didn’t know. You’re a cheat.

Young and impressionable, I truly believed that you were simply shy and sweet and cute to boot. I felt lonely and unnoticed at times when you came on the scene of my life, and it was perfect timing for you to come in with your night in shining armor disguise. A new kid on the block, you saw something in me that drew you to my side and I was flattered and pleased to be noticed in a new way. Surely, this boy, this one boy, could be the one that I was searching for right? After all, opposites attract, right? I could not have been further from the truth. I was irritated at the very obvious fact that you were not mature enough to be dating me. Did that stop me from 9 months of dating you? “The slow learner is taught the lesson by repetition.” I tried to understand you, I tried to fix you, I tried to change you. I fell for excuses and put up with inappropriate behavior because I so craved the feeling of being loved I refused to acknowledge the truth-we were not compatible.

Possibly the worst feeling was feeling jaded. My hand limp at my side unheld and my lips puckered yet unkissed while her sheets were unkept and you both showing signs of lack of sleep.

What was it about me? Was it my moral standards? Was it my sense of self respect? Was it my pushy and demanding confidence?

Or maybe it wasn’t me at all.

Was it your shy nature? Was it your tendency toward deception? Was it your love of physical pleasure and displacement towards emotional intimacy? Was it the language barrier? Was it just bad timing?

Or was it a passionate night at a Korean summer camp with a stranger and a lie that you were too ashamed to admit until a wasted night and a drunken voicemail on my machine.

Word Vomit: Perfectionism

I am ill with the need to be perfect.

The 2 AM calls to action just leads me to self loathing and more procrastination.

I am always thinking about how I can be better instead of just embracing the fact that I am 18 and that is such an exciting time to figure out what I want, what I love, and how I want to enjoy life.

The ease with which I slip into perfection contradicts every single one of my ideals.

I desperately want to be a good writer. I was reading an article today about how the “good” writers don’t give up and work their butt off to be good writers. This terrifies me. I am the typical writer who writes when inspiration strikes rather than when the work bell rings.

Instead of this leading me to despair, I have decided that I want this. I want it and I need it, and I am going to have to get working in order to get it.

When I was growing up, the emphasis and definition of suscess often revolved around college and career and 8-5. I always felt as if I had to perform or entertain or have the best story to hold their attention and ultimately have their love. It was not until recently that I have realized that most of my failures and issues are a result of this performance driven attitude toward life. I want to be perfect and have the perfect body type, therefore I starved myself. I wanted their attention and craved their comments; I was starving for affection and apples.

I wanted to be admired for my intellect, wisdom, and unique nature. Even though I was I didn’t consider it enough. I spiral into depression every time I am called into question. The absolute need is unhealthy at best and crippling at worst. The mental disorders I am going through often embarress me and I hide them. The worst is when I hide them from myself.

Self deception. I have it all figured out. I am eighteen and living on my own and have gotten over these disorders and have overcome my insecurities. The most dangerous lies of all are these. I have not gotten over them but rather suppressed them. It is at the heart of these issues that I find my biggest sin: pride.

The snake that envelops my heart as fallen away, yet it is within my heart that the Father is revealing the deepest sins.