I have a confession to make.
I can feel the jagged edges of my soul cutting away at my mind, at my heart, at the remainder of the life I thought I would have.
I feel like the sea coming for me. I can see the invisible, giant wall of salt water looming in the horizon, tall and dripping with energy, waiting. Waiting for the worst possible moment to come and drown me.
The threat is higher every day that passes, and there is no refuge in sight, only a cliff with jagged rocks waiting for me to jump.
Yet not all moments are dark. There are glimmers of moonlight in between the clouds, dispersing the wails of defeat and insecurity, like fire to wild beasts. The light beckons me, and like a moth, I walk nimbly and eager into its promise.
And there, for a moment, an ethereal second, I am at peace, sure that the way is clear, that all I need to do is take the first step, that somehow I’ll get where I am going.
Then the clouds cover the light, and I’m once again blind against the oncoming storm, drenched in my fears and lost in hopelessness.
Despite the dark, I walk on, not willing to give up. I blunder my way, arms outstretched to feel the danger that isn’t there, the danger that might be lurking, the peace that whispers at me but eludes me.
Around me, I can hear the quiet screams of souls as lost as me, for we are all pretenders in this society of perfection, where image is worth more than reality. Darkness fights to hide us from each other, and we move on blind to each other’s pain.
But I’m too wary to pretend any longer.
So I confess.
I’m broken. I’m not perfect.
I’m as imperfect as can be.
And I’m scared, because once of out the mirror of perfection, the path is muddy and unforgiving, but I need out of the jail that crushes my spirits.
I fight, because I know there is a place of sunshine, that there is a better place, where the shadows are for contrast and not for dread.
I fight, because if I keep trying, I can reach out and we no longer need to be alone.
I fight, because I know that fear of our differences is nothing more than our fear of being seen less than perfect.
So I confess.
I am broken, but that is all right.
You’re broken, but that is all right too.
There is no more need to hide it.
You are not alone. We’re all in this together.
Perfection is only an illusion.