THE WEIGHT OF PERFECTION
Image by Sora Shimazaki from Pexels
From the moment I first grasped the
weight of expectation, I knew I was destined to achieve. Not because I wished
for it, but because the world had already carved my path, one paved with
excellence and admiration. A child prodigy, an inspiration, a name whispered
among peers with reverence. I walked hallways bathed in golden light, the
chosen one, the beacon, the daughter who could never falter.
They say pressure creates diamonds, but
does anyone ever ask what happens when the weight becomes too much? When the
cracks begin to form beneath the dazzling surface?
My journey began in a small town, where
whispers of my brilliance spread like wildfire. Teachers called me
extraordinary; neighbors told their children to look up to me. I became the
yardstick of success, the gold standard, the embodiment of every parent's
unspoken dream. Bevin, the key reference. And so, I lived up to it. I surpassed
it. I carried the burden with grace, earning my place in the most prestigious
high school, outshining, outpacing, outperforming.
But at what cost?
Now, I stand at the peak of my ambition,
a law student at the best university, draped in the heavy cloak of admiration.
Younger generations see Bevin as an icon, their eyes gleaming with the hope of
emulating my footsteps. My parents' pride is my compass, their unwavering faith
my fuel. To them, I am perfect—unwavering, unshaken, an impenetrable force of
intellect and discipline.
Yet, behind closed doors, when the world
is silent and the applause fades, I sit with my thoughts, heavy as lead. The
walls close in, the expectations suffocate, and the cracks widen. Does anyone
see the battle waged behind this polished exterior? The silent wars fought in
the depths of my mind?
There are nights when exhaustion gnaws at
my bones, where my reflection mocks me, asking, "How much longer can you
keep this up?" But I shake off the doubt, straighten my posture, and
rehearse the perfection that is expected of me. Because in my world, there is
no room for failure.
Depression is an uninvited guest in my
castle of achievements. It lingers in the shadows, whispering doubts, dragging
me down when I am expected to rise. But I battle on, because what choice do I
have? I have spent a lifetime building this image, brick by flawless brick. To
falter now would mean undoing years of reverence, of admiration, of pride
reflected in my parents’ eyes.
And so, I conquer. I rise, not because I
want to, but because I must. Because the world does not know me without my
victories. Because my worth has been etched into the fabric of success. Because
the weight of perfection is a burden I cannot set down.
So I ask—what happens when the diamond no
longer wishes to shine? When the golden child yearns to rest? When the girl
behind the admiration wants to be seen, not as an icon, but as a human being?
Perhaps, one day, I will know the answer.
But today is not that day. Today, I carry on, because that is the only life I
have ever known.
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