This is going to take a while to read but you should really consider it. If you can't read it all at least read the first link below or maybe make multiple trips. I'll warn you that this is emo as all hell, but in it there is hope and direction that could change lives and those lives could add up to a changed world. I say this more-so than much of the change I've ever supported. It's broad but it's deep and very much needed, so please take the time to read.
When you give it to me ay, give it to me raw
I just read the most wonderful and inspiring post about The Disease Called Perfection and I'm here now to show my support for being real. I'm not the only one either, it's important to know just how many people have been affected by this, and just how many more are there for support. There's a follow-up that promotes working together to be The CURE for "Perfection" and I'm in the mood to be a little more real than just one thing, but I'll try to follow the format at least loosely. I'm not so sure if these are my biggest trials, mistakes or struggles as I've had many and they've made me who I am today. I'm posting this here because even though anonymity is offered in the comments there I feel that I need to back my claims of being open and honest and catalog some of my imperfections here in front of my friends and family. All that said, here goes:
I dated someone for 5 1/2 years out of comfort and fear of change. I justified the things I should have taken as signs and I lied to myself and to her to keep it going. I was hurt and I caused pain. I became spiteful and angry, which takes a very very long time of repetition and exasperation and despite my lifelong quest for understanding, self control, patience and forgiveness, I once threw a pillow at her out of anger. Sure, "it was only a pillow" but I am more ashamed of that pillow than any other action of my life. My mother sacrificed everything, at times maybe even her last bits of sanity, saving my siblings and I from the cyclic abuse of all varieties that had plagued her family for generations and I always promised that I would never be one of those people. I wasn't true to my own values and standards and still I belittled hers for being selfish and immature.
If I could write to that person I once was I would tell him that there is a fine line but a huge contrast in working through differences of opinion and sacrificing who you are. I would tell him that he should be more confident and that he will find someone that accepts him for who he is because he's amazing, despite the few flaws that make him as imperfect as everyone else.
When I was younger and more reckless I threw a party at which a guest tried to force himself on a young lady. I was so blinded by rage that instead of just making a difference I beat him, bloodying his face and trying to break limbs, until I was pulled away. I invited the people, I intoxicated the young and inexperienced and the worst truth is that I would have killed him. It might not seem so bad to some, but even then I knew for a fact that people learn and change. My closest cousin and others in my family had already traveled those roads and, as terrible as rape is, what I did showed no more control than him. What's worse is that I've told people of this event as though it made me a protector or someone who stood against barbarianism when I myself had been one, before and after then, which may only stand to perpetuate such travesty. I probably knew this before but I didn't even admit it to myself until reading these posts and thinking back with a more critical eye and vulnerable disposition.
If I could send that young man a letter I would remind him of his own imperfections and that his place is not to judge but to support change. I would tell him that he can make a difference, even in those people, but he needs to be a good man and keep his convictions regardless of the situation or he stands only to reduce his own reliability and diminish the impact he can have. Most importantly, I would remind him, as he has thought he understood long before and after, that it matters not what one says, but what they do that defines who they are.
More recently than those is something that remains heavy on my heart, though lighter over time, even today. I found a friend who hung himself. I go over it and know that it's past and that he made his choice and that he told nobody and showed no signs, but every now and then I still break down and blame myself. What if I hadn't moved out? Why didn't I see how torn up he was? There's more, but "I know" none of that matters and that it's not my fault. He was unable to pursue the military career he always wanted in life, lost his "one true love" and probably felt that he had no hope but ultimately I believe that he felt like a burden on his friends and loved ones and thought it would be best if he stopped dragging them down. He didn't understand that his criminal record, joblessness and propensity for partying a bit too hard didn't mean he couldn't live a long and happy life making positive change in others as he always wanted but would seldom admit openly.
I'm not qualified to write a letter to this me just yet; I could put down eloquent and insightful words, but they're words I already know and have shared and hoped would put others at ease. They're words that are true and yet still I hold on not knowing why. I'm not so good at taking my own advice, though I tend to give it well. I support movements like To Write Love On Her Arms and try to make it known that life is never without value, not out of penance but because I didn't really understand just how real and close to home suicide could be. It doesn't weigh on me as heavily so perhaps it will eventually fade--only time will tell.
If I could write a letter to my friend though, I would remind him that people change and that the world changes. I'd also make it clear to him that as much as he depended on us, we were so much more dependent on him for the joy he spread so well. I'd point out how many people were changed by him and how amazing he was at bringing people together and tell him how much more powerful of a weapon that is in war than any weapon a soldier carries. I'd tell him how important it is for him to share his story, rather than leaving mere fragments of that power behind.
Perhaps it's just the way I'm looking at it, but the perfection article didn't tell me things I didn't know per se, but rather made me admit and realize many things. I reflect regularly, but the article and the amazing set of comments therein drew attention to things I had forgotten or buried. It reminded me the power and importance of open forum and gave me an opportunity to say things that are important to me with relevance to others and perhaps a chance to have a wider impact than my normal ramblings. I am also impressed and compelled by the response and have a renewed sense of hope that people will share their lessons with each other, be there for each other and help make a better world. A homeless man told me something as a child that I will never forget: "A smart man learns from his mistakes. A wise man learns from the mistakes of others."
Thank you Dan Pearce and all those taking part in this; I wish there was an adequate way to express the gratitude I feel
Is it real son, is it really real son, let me know it's real son, if it's really real. Something I could feel son, load it up and kill one; want it raw deal son, if it's really real.
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