To Finally be Perfect

When we are little kids, we all sometimes say: “But that’s no fair!”
And we all get the response: “Life’s not fair. Deal with it.”
If I would have known how true that statement was, maybe I could have prepared myself for what happened in my life: I got hurt, a lot. Now I am somewhat healing, I am stronger than anyone could ever know.
Love. That’s what carved me into the person I am today. Not in a good way. People talk about love like it’s beautiful and supposed to make you into the happiest person on Earth.
When in reality, putting all of my adolescent anger and angst aside, love is the worst thing that could possibly happen to you.
At first it’s amazing, your whole universe revolves around your significant other and you feel unstoppable. But eventually, things change and you feel like dying. It may take weeks, it may take decades, but it is inevitable that the parasite we call “love” will creep inside your ribcage and fester, eating away at your heart and spitting acid into your lungs with every break up, every lie, and every broken promise.
Now when I hear people talk about love, I am hit with an almost unbearable since of dread. I look composed at first glance, but look beyond that and you will see that I am doubled over in pain, frantically gathering pieces of myself off the floor. I will never be complete again.

Everything started last September. I met a boy named Kye and he said he loved me and I believed him and I loved him back. A few months later my life caved in on me and I became distant, a mystery he couldn’t solve. I broke things off between us because I didn’t know what I was feeling, and I didn’t want to see him get hurt. I did not expect that I would never get over him, and I certainly did not expect all of our memories together would haunt me day and night.
For a few months afterwards I was a miserable marionette doll.
I was forever suspended in midair, held together by a complex system of rusty hooks and wires. The hooks dug into my skin and I winced with every tug as I was pulled through the motions of the daily routine: “No, I’m fine, I really mean it”. Lie. Smile. Walk. “Nothing’s wrong just a headache.” Go home. Cry. Cut. Puke. Lay awake thinking about him. Toss and turn and consider my nightmares as sleep. Roll out of bed. Paint my face on: Beautiful. Repeat.
When the strings that pulled me around entangled around each other, and the wires rusted into dust, my deadly puppet show was no longer in my control, and my strings were attached on the Universe alone. It was dangerous.
In October, my best friend’s little brother began to die, and my other close friend was running out of reasons to live. And because my fake strength was falling apart, I was not strong enough for them and had no reasons for living that I could say.
So I broke down and texted him. He was doing fine with a new girlfriend, Krissy. “Yeah… I’m over us.” Are the four words he said that finally triggered my earthquakes. My pain was blended into liquid above my head and was poured into my skull where my brain put it into words that spilled out of my mouth for him to hear. “I still care about you.” “I’m not strong enough to move on like you did.” “I couldn’t give her reasons to live… I couldn’t” “He’s only seven and dying…” “I’m too weak to help her through it.” “Please take me back…” “I need you, Kye…”
At first I watched him consider. And he led me on for a couple days and I was dangling on a thread that he held. And do you know what he said to me? “I loved you for almost a year. And you’re too late to tell me you have feelings. I know what you’re up to! No, no, no I won’t do that to Krissy. She’s fragile.”
Then I remember falling. I fell and fell. And I cried and watched my many tears form the freezing ocean that I landed in. I sank and nearly drowned. When I floated up, my head finally broke through the waves and I could breathe, I swam out of it in agony, telling myself: “What does he mean I’m too late? Feelings like that don’t just go away. It’s not possible to say- ‘Well I loved you last month, but this month is a no-go.’ And Krissy? Fragile? I knew her, the only problems she had were that her parents were getting divorced and fought a few times. That makes her fragile? I can’t name three people whose parents aren’t divorced, including me. He never cared about me at all did he? Well fine! If he wants to be with that stupid, baboon-faced, lying, bit** then he can! When he comes crawling back, I’ll make him feel what I’m feeling now…” I kept swimming and reconstructing myself, and when I reached shore, I made myself perfection.