Because of "Perfect"

"You're such a pretty girl"
"You have such beautiful skin underneath your sores"
"Why do hurt yourself?"
"Why do you scratch?"
"Why can't you just stop?"

Because:

Because of "Perfect".
That seven letter swear word.
That impossible concept that puts the "Obsessive" in "Obsessive Compulsive".
I hate this.
Feeling ugly.
Feeling dirty.
Feeling subhuman.
I never thought I was a victim of today's standards of beauty.
But I am.
I must admit.
I see the pore-less woman on the television, on the internet, on the advertisement on the side of the bus or the magazine in checkout. And I think of my own skin.
And I know I am not up to par.
I am a people pleaser.
I love people.
And I want them to be happy.
I want them to see something in me that compels them to feel happy.
I want to be perfect.
But I'm not.
I'm a picture of filth and lack of health.
There's something on me!
Get it off so I may look healthy,
So I may feel better,
So I can breathe,
So I can feel clean,
So I can be beautiful!
There's a bump of poison under the surface of my skin!
Get it out so I may be healthy,
So I may feel better,
So I can breathe,
So I can feel clean,
So I can be beautiful!
Inside and out.
My self-esteem is shot.
I scratch myself.
Mercilessly.
I am good to everyone but myself.
And then they step on me.
They push my buttons.
They lie.
They criticize and belittle.
I am not enough to them.
I deserve better than I am receiving,
But if I say or think that, I berate myself for throwing a pity party.
I am trapped in a circle.
Of trying to be what I'm not by making myself into exactly what I don't want to be.
I am broken.
A broken record.
Someone take me off the merry-go-round.
Please.
Smash me into pieces or fix my scratches.
Just make it stop.
But I know I'm the only one with that power.
I used to think beautiful thoughts.
I used to feel beautiful feelings.
I used to smile wider than the moon.
And I likely glowed as much.
But something turned my light off.
Something broke my smile and bent it backward into a pained frown.
Someone snapped it like a rubber band, and it sags uselessly on my face when no one is looking.
I miss myself.
I am searching for her.
Because this imposter is going to kill me.
Someone stop the murderer.
I used to write beautiful poetry.
Sing beautiful songs.
Create beautiful works  of art.
I used to be full of ideas.
So how did I get handcuffed to a concrete wall of shame and depression?
How did I come to loathe myself this way?
What happened, little girl? Sweet girl? Happy girl?
Where are you hiding?
I know the tears that come after the beast has torn my skin up belong to you.
I know the quivering cries and trembling bottom lip are yours.
But where are you?
Trapped inside in one of my rooms.
Locked in like a criminal for your past offenses
of being too soft, too sweet, too patient.
For being trampled and not standing up enough.
Was your punishment to be buried alive?
I travel a labyrinth of thoughts and emotions to try and free you every day,
But I never make it to the end.
Pains and sorrows whisk me back to the entrance every time,
Though I get a little closer to finding you each time.
A little closer today than yesterday.
"I am bound to you by more than what divides us".
"I'll see you again where the sky touches the sea".
"Your light will always illuminate my dark".
I want out.
I must find effortless perfection in the flaw-laden individual that is me.
I want to be perfect.
I want to be beautiful.
And all I have to do is open my eyes and see:
I already am.

I pray anyone who reads will take my words and apply any to their lives that seem suitable...in the hopes that I may help them while I try to help myself...