Life can have perks, and of course downfalls. Everything seems to fall into this elaborate pattern to lead us to our destinies. We, as objects of humanity, can both love and hate this terrible inevitable pattern. It is the test of life. Some are lucky, some are not so. The world is not against us, nor is humanity. The only thing that holds us back is ourselves. We self-doubt, we insult, we lie to others, and we lie to ourselves. We have created an image of the perfect life, the perfect body figure, the perfect personality. Blemishes are not considered perfect. The word "perfect" is only an opinion, and you are lying to yourself if you believe someone is perfect just by their figure as you are already mentally comparing what you see to other people you have seen from magazines, movies, or even yourself. As you say something is perfect, it is then you are acknowledging the blemishes and imperfections. You also push aside these blemishes and ignore them. That is where you see the blemishes in yourself when you call others perfect. You begin pushing yourself further down into a pit. Your life may be perfect to someone else, even though you are finding all those terrible blemishes. You may have lost a dear friend to cancer, or a pet; you may blame yourself even for your loss. That does not mean you should dig your hole even deeper. People are like the jewelry behind the display case, or the clothes on the hanger. You may see those items as something perfect, only when you observe closer you notice scratches or loose strings. You may notice the ruby earrings are only plastic, and the sleek leather jacket is faux leather and the studs are cheap.
Imagine you are graduating high school. You are watching your best friend giving an emotional speech as your graduating class's valedictorian. You see them up there pouring their heart out, as a single tear goes down your cheek as you realize you will soon be leaving the safety net of home. Your best friend has perfect grades and almost never studies, with a family that never argues and your friend has so much freedom. You think they are perfect, that you wish you were them and you regret not trying harder in school. You graduate and never see your friend again, until a news report tells you that they had died from disease that had been affecting them for a long time, and they never told you only because they did not want to worry you.
The example, as you may call it, was not to show you just that no one is so called "perfect", it is also to show those suffering, that you are never alone. There is always someone else out there with similar traumas, or issues as you. From wrecking your parents' car, to losing a loved one, and even your pet fish dying.
This is somewhat how my story starts. I thought my tragedy was the end of me, only to later realize it put me where I am now. Of course you are now wondering why I went on this long spiel and how I am tying it to this story. Turns out, I am a bit like that "best friend" mentioned earlier.
I was what everyone saw as a perfect student. "The golden child" was a nickname often used, just to give you an idea. I did not, however, have any sort of disease of the sort. I had straight A's across the board from elementary and up. I took the hardest classes I could and was already planning my future before I entered high school. Not only was I friends with just about everyone in school, I had pretty much carved my path to prom queen and valedictorian without much effort. My rising tower of success was obliterated the summer before my junior year.
My father worked at the local police station, he was always working over time any chance he could. My mother had just been accepted as a doctor at the local hospital. Growing up, I had often found myself alone save for the occasional mornings and late nights. My parents had decided to surprise me and take an entire day off for my birthday. We were just sitting down for a late night movie when disaster struck. Somehow, I had managed to survive, the same could not be said for my parents. Police were already at my house in minutes, they were probably the reason I lived. At the time, I had rather been slaughtered like my parents then become paranoid that I was next. That the killer would return to clean up his mistake.
