I Would Rather Be Real Than Perfect


My dear, sometimes when I hear you talking about me, it breaks my heart, because that “me” that you talk about has nothing to actually do with the real me.

Every day, I feel like I have to live up to this version of who I am supposed to be that you created in your head, and I have to pretend to be her. I don’t know how much longer can I keep on pretending to be what I’m not, because I don’t know how to break it to you, but this idea of me in your head is not real.

Sometimes I wonder how this version of me got created in your head or how I am supposed to compete or keep up with her. I think maybe part of that was my fault, because you loved the parts of me that I chose to show you. You didn’t get to know the other parts inside of me that I kept hidden away from you. Maybe I didn’t show you all of myself because I wanted to stay so perfect in your eyes, or maybe because some days I even lie to myself and pretend like these parts don’t exist.

You loved my bright side, but you haven’t seen my dark, twisted side yet. You haven’t seen how life sometimes drains me so much that I end up with nothing to give to anyone. You haven’t seen the parts that I am so resilient about showing to the world. You haven’t seen the parts that I am not quite fond of myself.

You know sometimes I get jealous of this me in your head, if that makes any sense. Sometimes I feel like I want to be her. But still, I can’t, because she’s not real, though I am. I really want you to get to know all of me, but sometimes I feel that once you get to know all that I am, you might be disappointed, because the version you created in your head of who I am supposed to be might be so much better than the reality.

Sometimes I feel that if I can’t accept these parts of myself, how can I expect you to do so? But I am working on this. I am working on acknowledging the parts of myself that I am not so fond of and trying to accept them. I am slowly learning to understand that there’s no such thing as perfection. We are all flawed and we are all imperfect, and we shouldn’t try not to be.

I want you to truly get to know all of my real parts, even if it will shatter this version of who I am that’s implanted in your head and even if it will make you fall out of love with me. That’s a risk that I am willing to take. Because I am done pretending to be someone that I am not. I am done feeling loved for being someone that’s not really who I am. I am done feeling like I constantly have to not be myself. And I am done doing all this just out of the fear of losing someone that I love. I don’t care any longer if I am not as perfect as you think I am, as long as I get to be real.