Fuck The World. You’re Perfect.

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Written By K.

YOU ARE PERFECT JUST THE WAY YOU ARE!

I’m sorry, but that had to be yelled, in large font, to make sure that everybody was paying attention. This whole goddamned planet has been designed to grind into you all of the ways in which you fail; you’re not attractive enough, you’re not smart enough, everything is your fault, your mind isn’t right, your body isn’t right, the way you talk isn’t right, etc. etc. ad nauseam. And you know what? That’s all bullshit designed by someone trying to sell you something. Or by someone trying to compensate for their own hot mess of shit.

It’s all crap. There is nothing wrong with you. You aren’t weird, or wrong, or gross, or broken or any other such nonsense. You know what you are? You are a person, worthy of love. The end. Case closed. Anyone who says otherwise is selling something (20 points for the reference).

And if you couldn’t tell, I am goddamned furious about it all. I am so fucking angry that I have been convinced since I was a child that who I am as a person, my body, sexuality, everything, was wrong unless heavily edited into through the socially acceptable filter. I am especially angry, because I am finally at a point in my life where I actually like who I am as a person! It’s taken a long-ass time and a near death experience to get me to that point, but Jesus Christ, now that I’m there I am sot painfully aware of everyone who is trying to take that from me, in both subtle and overt ways. I’d list them all out here, but I’m betting just by reading that statement, you can think of at least 3 separate influences in your own life (direct or indirect) that would fall within that category.

How fucked up is that?!

I was going to write this beautifully edited, eloquent post about all of the ways in which you are a beautiful, unique, fascinating person. But we’re all so varied and wonderful, that it would take pages and pages to express all of the beautiful ways that you are perfect (and let’s face it, I’m not willing to put in that kind of work and also I’m a little drunk. Sorry not sorry) . I don’t give a shit if you have a mental illness, that means that despite your own brain working against you, you’re still here! Do you know how fucking astonishing that is? Do you know how amazingly strong that makes you? Whether or not it’s a struggle every, single, fucking moment to carry on, that just makes you even stronger. Do you understand that? The harder the struggle, the more impressive that you are here. I don’t think less of you if cry every hour on the hour because of how fucking hard being alive is. You know why? Because, holy shit, I’m not sure I have that kind of strength. That’s fucking incredible and I am so amazingly glad you’re here, as that might mean I get to meet you one day and hear the incredible story of your life; who you are as a person, and what sorts of things hold your attention. I love you and I am so amazingly proud of you.

Even though I might not currently know you, I am desperate to find out more about you, because quite honestly, you fascinate me. You. Just you. Your life is an incredible story that I want to know more about. The thoughts that have pieced together who you are as a person delight me. I want to know the dark, the disturbed, the hopelessly optimistic, the bleakly pessimistic and the bizarrely strange things you think about.

Think about it! We are all a collection of synopses fired in specific patterns around the fleshy meat pod in our skull that is our brain. That in and of itself is absolutely, mind-boggling incredible. Scientists still have next to no idea what consciousness actually is, how it’s created and cultivated and where in the brain it’s stored. So of course I find you fascinating!

And you know what’s fucked? I spent a lifetime thinking that I’m so wrong and weird that it would be crazy for me to walk right up to you and ask you about your life. I used to have near-crippling social anxiety, and while I certainly like myself more, I still couldn’t walk up to a stranger and strike up a conversation (at least without my nerves having an adverse effect on the other person, much like a nervous dog interacting with other dogs).

So fuck that. Fuck the world that says we aren’t good enough. Fuck the society that says, “I don’t mean to be sexist, but I just don’t find women (comedians, scientists, doctors, athletes, etc) as good.” You are beautiful. You are interesting. You are fascinating. And I am so goddamned happy that you are here and that I’m here too. Fuck the world and be you, in the most you way you possibly can.

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