Perfecting Imperfection

It's true what they say.  You are your own worst critic.  Tell me about it.  I took this saying to the extreme, and since early childhood, I've constantly bombarded myself with waves and waves of self-imposed judgment and proposed correction.  I constantly held myself accountable up to the highest bar ever known to man (and woman).  This bar was called perfection.

Growing up and having no choice but to spend almost 30 years with myself, it'd be a shame if I didn't have at least a little bit of self-awareness.  Naturally, my self-awareness did grow and expand as the years went by, but more recently I've genuinely began fuller realization of my true self including my true potentials and pitfalls as well.  I began working on myself and analyzing my very heart, mind, and soul at a fairly young age during middle school.  Since then, I've logged an infinite number of hours to recognize a fundamental truth which has stuck with me since as far back as I can remember.  I am really, really hard on myself.

I sort of do and don't remember the first time I ever came to experience the word "perfect", what it means and why it exists.  Thinking about it now, I'm almost positive the first time I ever conceived the idea of perfection was within the church growing up as a christian.  The word was used everywhere to represent the man upstairs and his beloved son.  It was used in hymnals, praise songs, sermons.  Apparently the man whom I share a birthday with was labeled as the perfect man.  Perfection in this context meant a man who bore no sin.  Not one, not a single one.  How undeserving we all must be, and how lucky we all are to be alive because the perfect man rescued us all from our own sins by dying a painful death.  If it sounds like the perfect plot to plant a seed of guilt in our minds, then you're hearing right.  I remember constantly comparing myself to him, asking the common question.  WWJD?  I remember entertaining the thought of myself being a resurrection of him and imagining what it'd be like to be him.  I remember trying hard, really hard.  I tried to be "perfect" and failed miserably.

I am a strong perfectionist.  Hours and hours of self-analysis led to lots of realizations and re-realizations about my perfectionism.  Where does it come from?  Why is it there?  Why can't I ever change it despite my greatest and grandest efforts to do so?  Is it good, or is it bad?  Does it mean I'm strong, or am I weak?  Over the years and recent events, I've come to one undeniable conclusion and truth.  Perfectionism is bad.  Let me clarify.  Perfectionism is bad, for me.

Based on the definition given by the pre-installed Dictionary app on all Macs, perfectionism is defined as the refusal to accept any standard short of perfection.  What a terrible display of using the root word as part of the definition, right?  Let's go one level deeper.  Perfection then, is defined as the condition, state, or quality of being free or as free as possible from all flaws or defects.

I hit a giant milestone near the end of last year and finally put in some really genuine effort to find a therapist.  I've thought and talked about finding one for years until one fateful day, I made a firm and adamant decision to find one.  I was filled with sheer determination and will alone, and failure was not an option.  After a dozen calls to a dozen therapists and session visits to half of them, I finally found my therapist and have been seeing him weekly since.  A common theme consistently bubbling up during my sessions is perfectionism, how deeply rooted it lays within my mind, and how it touches just about every aspect of my life.  I have a pattern of thought which he commonly refers to as black and white thinking.  For perfectionists such as myself, we're inevitably training our minds to believe and think in dyads.  It's either one or the other, with no in between.  For any given situation, we perceive two interpretations.  When engaged in conversation and hearing something ambiguous, we interpret it in two opposing ideas.  She loves me always, or she doesn't love me at all.  I trust her completely, or I don't trust her at all.  I'm a good person, or I'm just weak.  If she cheats on me, she never loved me.  If he rejects me, I'm not good or deserving enough to get it.  These are typical scenarios which have inevitably at one point or another ran its course through my own head.

Black and white thinking does me no good and is a very destructive way to perceive the gray world I live in.  My mind splinters off and interprets high-risk situations with as little as two options when in reality, I know there are infinitely more.  Not so surprisingly, this style of thinking only kicks in whenever the situation pulls in my own sense of self-worth into the picture.  It's like a thick giant fog rolling in, and suddenly you don't know which way is up or down, left or right.  I can assess other peoples' situations very objectively, compassionately, and empathically.  I'm quite good at it, but when it comes to giving myself the same amount of grace and compassion, I simply don't.  It's like a bad habit, which despite everything I know about self-worth, acceptance, deservingness, and compassion, I fail time and time again to break the spell.  It's equivalent to being unable to kick the nicotine habit while knowing crystal clear without a single doubt, it is killing me.  I'm my own worst critic, and I'm always fighting to break down and away from this destructive habit.

In the old cartoon show, GI Joe, the motto always was "Knowing is half the battle."  Well, thank you very much Mary Jane, but shit, what's the other half?  It's like telling someone a pot of gold exists somewhere without leaving them a single clue.  It's true though.  Knowledge does help, and there's no way you can work to obtain something if you don't even know it exists.  As for the other half, I'm learning and accepting that some things are just impossible to do through sheer will alone.  Will power regardless of how much knowledge I possess is just not enough to change.  The answer?  Practice.  It takes practice, repetition, and consistency to build new habits over the old.  You want to change something, change the way you perceive situations, move past old thinking patterns, and get into the new?  Then practice is your answer.

The human mind is incredibly complex as is the human spirit.  How can anyone believe we can classify something so complex as the human mind into just two motives?  Well I obviously can, but I know it's a false perception and simply not true.  I know we're all truly unique and come in all different shapes and sizes.  I know I'm really hard on myself more than I am on others.  I know I hold high and unrealistic expectations of myself, often ending in disappointment within myself.  I know I try to be perfect while knowing perfection doesn't exist.  I know.

I wanted to be perfect when I was young, and I tried to be perfect since.  It's a mental fixation, similar to OCD, where I can't help but want everything I do, say, produce, create, etc be the very best, be perfect.  Well, I'll say it loud and clear.  I'm done trying to be perfect.  I'm done trying to be in control.  Practice makes perfect?  I don't think so.  Practice makes imperfect.  I'm practicing to be imperfect.  I'm ready to wake up every day, chant mantras in my head if I have to, and practice getting my mind to let go, to ultimately accept my imperfect nature.  I will be late, most of the time.  I will sometimes retract and be unreachable.  I will have a difficult time keeping in touch with people.  I will respond to emails from three to six months ago because of procrastination.  I will judge myself harshly and hold myself to high expectations.  This is me.  I'm not perfect.  I acknowledge I want to be, and I acknowledge I never will be.  I am just me.

Anger Leads To Growth

I grew up with a lot of anger within me starting from an early age.  I can hardly remember how young I was the very first time I simply "lost it".  Thought it wasn't only me.  In therapy, I'm learning how significant genetics can influence and play a big role in establishing our emotional blueprints.  Maybe it seems obvious when you put them in a sentence together like that, but it wasn't to me.

Anger, depression, compulsiveness, perfectionism all run in my family amongst other emotions.  The walls inside my old home in Bethpage were riddled with bumpy plaster covering up all the gaping holes and dents made by our fists.  Our knuckles are permanently swollen and discolored from the constant abuse.  Jason held the top position on the leader board while I followed closely behind in second place.  Both of us have been suspended from school for violent behavior in classrooms, around students, and other faculty members.  Doors were slammed, desks were thrown, lockers were punched, teachers were sworn off.  He's got more interesting stories than I do, but I had my fair share of violent outbursts.  I didn't think I was doing anything wrong.  What do you think?

I've had many years since then to dissect my anger and think about where it comes from, why it's so explosive, and what I can potentially do about it.  While I've significantly mitigated my explosive temper over the years, I'll admit to undergoing only a handful of relapses since, almost always within the context of a romantic relationship.  The other place was at home with my mom.  Just recently, I've been relapsing again with some very serious explosive anger.  The intensity would be so strong, it'd overcome my entire mind, body, and heart.  I became completely overtaken, powerless, and possessed by the intense anger coursing through every vein.  I became verbally and physically violent, unleashing the excess anger with my fists against walls and marble countertops to my dismay.  Not even physical pain from the throbbing contusion in my hand was enough to distract my anger.  There was just so much of it with nowhere to go but out.

The last time I can remember losing myself to anger like this was just over five years ago.  Does this mean I've regressed?  If this was the first, second, or third time it's happened, maybe I'd think so.  Knowing this has been a chronic issue throughout my life, I know better.

My therapist recently told me I might be chronically depressed.  In fact, he simply stated, "You are depressed."  There wasn't a single doubt in his voice as he followed it up with, "I think you may be chronically depressed."  Depression can intensify anger by altering both my perception of experiences and my own emotions to seem worse than they actually are.  Depression can result by believing there are a lack of options in any given situation.  Many times, it feels like there are no options.  Black and white thinking contributes to this.  It's either right or wrong, either my way or your way.  I am a perfectionist, and I have gone in and out of depression my whole life.  Here's one clue behind my anger.

Being born into a Christian family, growing up in a church, and being faced with some very adult bullshit was great at cultivating a life constantly immersed in guilt.  I felt guilty for many things.  I felt guilty for not praying before a meal, for not reading the bible, for wanting to skip out on church, for not feeling devoted enough to my religion, for not crying at retreats, for not raising my hands and sobbing like the person next to me, for not wanting to clap my hands and sing, for not being strong enough to approach the alter asking for forgiveness, for not honoring my parents, for masturbating, for having sex before marriage, for having sexual thoughts, for feeling really happy, for feeling really sad.  The list goes on.  I never had anyone tell me it was okay to be human, to be imperfect, to simply be.  Instead, guilt was tactically used against me to manipulate my mind into believing I had to do things to be a good person, to go to heaven.  I've had quite a few experiences during my religious days from intense retreats and revivals, to demonic and spiritual possessions, to exorcisms, to people speaking in tongue.  It was all very confusing looking back in retrospect.

Overall, I felt a lot of guilt.  Subsequently, I also felt an incredible amount of shame.  Shame didn't help me speak the truth or speak at all.  Back then, I was too young and perhaps weak to know how to harness the power of shame.  I didn't know how to empower myself through shame with vulnerability.  I was a terrible communicator and expresser of emotions back in the day.  I was terrible at it because I didn't know how.  I never practiced.  I was always too ashamed to express my true feelings, my doubts, my questions.  I lacked confidence and self-esteem.  I didn't feel deserving of being listened to.  I didn't feel like I had anything useful or worthwhile to say.  I didn't feel I'd make any sense at all.  I didn't feel anyone cared.  I didn't believe I was strong.  I didn't speak.

Over the years, I've cultivated a personality trait where I kept things inside myself.  I bottled things up and convinced myself the bottle will never fill up.  I trained myself to hold my shit in, sometimes literally, and to be strong by sparing others the burden.  It was perhaps the only way I could feel strong.

Of course, my bottle isn't infinite, and my bottle does fill up.  Eventually, the bottle shatters, and my anger comes out.  When it does, there's different degrees of anger I experience.  Much like hurricanes, there are various categories of intensity.  Similarly, it's downright scary when it happens.  When a CAT 5 storm hits, I'm frightened for my myself, by myself.  When my mind blows, the whole world changes color.  A different pair of lens falls over my eyes, and the world looks like an altered version of hell, if there ever was one.

This past Sunday on the second day of 2011, my bottle broke.  My mind blew.  This time was different.  This time, it broke completely with nothing to replace it.  There weren't any bottles left and until I could find a new bottle to replace it with, my anger was completely exposed, out in the wild, gusting, swinging wildly, madly, lashing out on everything it can find to release itself, from itself.  It couldn't take the work of just one person to calm the storm, to dissipate the anger.  This time was different.  I needed more.  It took my lover, my friends, my family, my coworkers, my acquaintances, myself, and most importantly, time.

Asking for help can be humbling.  It is also incredibly liberating.  Having another set of eyes, ears, and shoulders bear witness to my anger, hear the frustration, and feel the gusty winds blowing is truly liberating.  Asking for help is empowering more than anything else.  One can never feel loved if one never grants themselves the opportunity to be loved.  I granted myself the opportunity to receive love and support from those around me.  I got it.  I've relearned this very important lesson yet again, and I am truly grateful.  Truly grateful.

The Black Swan

When I watch a movie with substance, it takes at least a full day to process not just how I feel about it, but what I think about it.  I can take almost any situation, any story, parable, movie, book, you name it, and find meaning from it.  I can find a way to apply it to my own life, to make it significant, to make it *meaningful*.  It's how I transform another person's piece of art into my own.  There was no difference with the Black Swan.  I was locked, engaged, and completely immersed in Nina's character.  I was in her head.  I felt her every emotion.  For 108 minutes, I was her.  I sometimes think of empathy as one's ability to leave their own minds and be completely immersed in another's, feeling every emotional heartbeat, feeling every push, every pull, and every drop of emotion.  I empathized for Nina.

Walking out of the movie, all I had then were my feelings.  There was no thought yet applied.  It's like I said.  I need at least a day for my brain to process and interpret my feelings.  What did I feel?  I liked it.  I identified with it.  There were moments where I saw more than mere glimpses of myself up on the big screen.  Though I didn't know yet to what degree, and I didn't know how to explain it.  Not yet.

The first question in my head was this.  What is the black swan?

There were logical and scientific answers coming to mind throughout the movie.  Things like schizophrenia, paranoia, and psychosis were all real explanations of what Nina was experiencing.  However, it's a movie.  It isn't real.  It isn't based on true events or an actual person.  This was a story where metaphors and symbolism take precedent.  It's obvious she's delusional and psychotic.  What's not so obvious is what lies beneath it.  What does it all mean?

There is the phrase, where there's a heaven there is a hell.  Where there is darkness, there is light.  Where there is man, there is woman.  Black or white.  This world of dyads we live in is built off of this idea of polarity.  Though just like there is a north and south pole on the earth, there also exists everything in between.  This movie touched upon the very extreme polarity between the two opposing sides within every human being.  I'm referring to our minds versus our souls.

There is a black swan within me, within all of us. It's what takes us to the very edge of insanity.  In fact, it is our insanity.  It's pure feeling absent of any bit of thought or rationale.  It's the intense fire of emotion, blasting through every vein in our body when we're pushed to our limits and our blood boils beneath the skin with anger.  It can change our every perception of the outside world.  Our vision, our touch, our hearing, our sense of smell and taste can all transform at the blink of an emotion.  The girl we once trusted and saw as the most beautiful woman in the world can suddenly become a demon with a cruel face you no longer recognize wanting to take something from you.  The fresh air we breathe can suddenly thicken and feel like an invisible suffocating cloud.  The sounds of a song we once used to comfort us can suddenly pound against the insides of our heads like broken bells.  A once delicious sample of food can taste like cardboard, bland, stale, and undesirable.

When the black swan fully reveals itself, we no longer have control, no more thought, no more logic. We become all emotion, driven by one and only one thing.  Our soul.  Our soul becomes unbounded, freed, and relinquished from all thought and reason.  It's pure emotion, feeling, and instinct.  It's our most inner, most true, and deepest core of who we uncontrollably are as unique individuals.  It's the root and birthplace of our entire sense of existence.  The human soul.

Come to think, this isn't a new theme.  I've seen various versions of the black swan before.  Chances are, so have you.  Smeagol and his alter ego from Lord of the Rings.  Jean Grey and Phoenix from X-Men.  Deprive, resist, and attempt to control your own soul long enough, it'll find its way out, and don't expect it to come out peacefully.  Kicking and screaming would be an understatement.

There is a black swan hidden deep within all of us, and many may never discover it nor will many actually allow it to be exposed.  To become fully possessed and overcome by our black swan would result in death.  I get it now.  Living a life driven only by the intensity of our emotions and nothing else cannot sustain.  It will destroy us and everything around us.  It is not meant to ever be fully unleashed onto the world.

Our souls are the black swans constantly fighting, poking, clawing, scratching, biting its way out of our bodies.  Our minds are the white swans acting as prison guards working constantly to keep our emotions in check with logic, reason, and rationale.  While our soul is constantly fighting to claw its way out, our mind does what it needs to stop it and prevent it from taking over.  It covers up the scars and gaping holes left by the black swan made in its attempt to relinquish itself from our bodies. Our white swan pushes back, fights back, and uses every tactic it knows to prevent the black swan from getting out. It wants to protect us. It tries to protect us.

Protection from what?  What happens when there is too much protection?

There exists an illusion of safety, an illusion of perfection, and the illusion of stability. Our minds are always fearing the loss of control and too often tries to prevent this by applying too much control.  Our mind knows the raw destructive power the black swan possesses.  Our mind fears what will happen if it gets out, if we start to act based on pure emotion rather than logic.  Our mind tries to protect us, and it also tries to be perfect.  Though in doing so, our mind begins trapping our very own soul behind prison walls.  If the mind never lets go and imprisons our soul even deeper, the soul begins to fight back, harder and harder. Its strength grows. Its lust for survival increases. Its desire to be freed from the prison walls steadily rises. It scratches harder, bites deeper, and screams louder. Depriving our soul empowers the soul, and it fights back.  No matter how strong or resilient our minds are, it will lose the fight. Our souls are infinite. It can expand, fly, dive, and grow to a million times the size of our bodies. Our souls are limitless.  Our minds on the other hand are not and are limited.

What are the prison walls we trap our souls behind? These prison walls are created by our own mind. The walls are put up in attempt to shape our black swans to be what they are never going to be. Always perfect. Always nice. Always loving. Always loyal. Always ____.  Fill in the blanks. The majority of us start our lives being really hard on ourselves, thinking we can shape and mold ourselves into whatever we want ourselves to be. We start out thinking that through sheer will alone, we can somehow change the shape and color of our black swan, of our tender soul. Truth is the more we try, the more walls we put up to prevent the black swan from moving in a direction we don't want it to. We put up walls, more walls, and more walls until all walls have closed in together so closely, it begins to confine our soul into a prison. Trapped and pushed into confinement, our soul begins to flutter its wings. It wants out, and there is nothing, not our minds, not our bodies, not anyone that's going to stop it. If you try, you'll be left defeated, barren, burnt, depleted, and maybe even dead.

The black swan is a part of us all. If we fight it, we are fighting ourselves. If we neglect its existence, trap it, and try imprisoning it behind a fictitious layer of control, it will destroy us. It will destroy all of us. Nurture your souls. Feed it. Give it the attention it deserves. If angry, be angry. If sad, be sad. If excited, be excited. The constant strive to always be perfect, to always be strong, to always be loving, to always be loyal, to always be ... will destroy us all.

Instead of trying to be perfect, I want to master the art of being imperfect. It's the only way my mind and soul, my white and black swans, can unite and exist harmoniously in life.  Otherwise, I may periodically continue to feel the black swan itching to get out of me, reminding me to nurture it, drawing my attention to be released.  Eventually, it'll explode out of my body hurting myself and others around me.

Let's hope it never gets back down to that.  Though it happened again recently, I'm hoping this time will be different.