I have things to do but now I just want to write. I was thinking about how easy it is to name all the things I hate about myself but when someone asks me what I love I draw a blank. Sometimes I look in the mirror and I hate myself. Until the moment I realize that what I see is just a small part of me. When I look in the mirror, with clarity, I understand that I love myself. I love the scar at the edge of my right eye. I love the raised knot over my right brow. I remember my boyfriend wanting me to put makeup over it and I almost did but I didn’t. I love the scar on my bottom lip that I got when my tooth split through it in a game. I love all of my battle scars and soul flaws. I’ve got plenty.
I used to be confident and secure until every one I loved hurt me. I used to be myself until I decided it was better or more right to make everyone else happy. It’s not something to be proud of but I guess I did all of these things because of my empathy and willingness to be a servant. The good in me outweighed the bad. I know that putting myself aside for everyone else isn’t always the best choice but it isn’t the worst choice either. I was born a servant, the highest of any calling. Meant to serve empathy and love above all, especially for those lacking such. My whole life I’ve strived to be a perfectionist but deep down I know there’s nothing perfect about me… or any of us.
We are who we are. We are our experiences, good or bad. Our flaws and all. I spent my whole life trying to hide most of my flaws, the physical and emotional ones… trying to survive the world’s rejection. But who am I without all of them? I’d be hardly myself or anyone worth knowing or loving.
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