The Swaying of Perfection

I am twenty years old, but I am an old twenty. Basically, I’m 38…on the inside. I enjoy a mug of something warm and opaque silence. I like soft surfaces and tender expressions.I do not enjoy abruptly callous and arrogant authority. I do not like to be negatively reinforced and expected to have a successful outcome. I do not like being named things that I am not.

Being pushed to the limits on a daily basis invites consequences and mental illness into your life. If you have seen the movie “Whiplash,” well that is an accurate representation of the life I am currently living. Music has always been a part of my life. You could say that music is my life. Why do I want to give it up? Could I do that? I can do whatever I want. Music makes my brain spark in the best and worst ways imaginable. It hurts me, it builds me up, it drives me to a dark, dismal, delightful place. It is the most wonderful, yet abusive relationship that I have ever had in my entire life…and I’ve had a rape inclined boyfriend. I blame music for a lot of things that fall on the feelings leading up to a successful lesson, which I feel like I never have, or even a decent practice session. “You are a failure.” “Stop trying.” The voice in my head is the most cynical part of the journey. I’ve had negativity in my brain since I began. The pressure to be perfect, the pressure to be the best.

I’M FUCKING SICK OF IT. 

I am good for me. I am good enough for me. I do not want to be great, I do not want to be perfect, I want to be good enough for me.

 

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