Perfection is Addicting
I’ve always wanted to be an artist. I’ve always wanted to tell stories through music that I wasn’t able to get into conversation about. Sometimes it’s easier to let the melody take over than actually talking to someone else about your problems. In 2014, I had a chance or what I thought was a chance.
In the Spring of 2014, I was living by myself. I had just quit my job as the store manager of Dunkin’ Donuts and had to go back to working as a caterer. That’s when a man filled me with dreams of being seen, getting noticed, and possibly be able to do music for the first time.
May 2014 is when I had my first photo shoot for Tatteeboy Clothing. “Be Wanted” was the slogan, and that’s all I could think about. All of the sudden my Facebook and Instagram started to get followers and it felt like euphoric. People were starting to notice me. The only thing I had to be was perfect, and then I could get this roller coaster moving.
Being “perfect” takes a lot of work. It takes a lot of washing your face, doing the right skin care routine, going to the gym, not eating too much (or eating so much that you throw up), a new hairstyle, and make up. Doesn’t seem like too much work, right? But it turned into a full time job for me.
At this point in my life, I went from living alone to living in the Tatteeboy apartment and working as the office manager. Also, whenever a new piece of clothing came in, I was right there to snap a picture of. It seemed like the perfect “win/win” situation. The only downside to it was your boss constantly trying to sleep with you, but that was last week’s story.
We would sponsor parties up in New York and down in DC. I was being seen and maybe drinking a little too much for a 20 year old at the bar.
Now I knew. The only thing I had to do to be seen was be perfect and that’s what I did. During this time, I constantly wore a “resting bitch face.” It wasn’t because I was a bitch, it’s because I was trying so hard not to fuck things up.
The followers kept coming in and I released my first single “Haunted.” It was the most amazing feeling in the world. I even released a lyric video of me naked with another guy because I knew that was the only way my “fans” would watch it.
By the time late 2015 came around, being perfect got hard. As I’ve said in previous posts, this is when my bipolar really went into the cage and started swinging. By early 2016, I had stopped going to the gym, though I still tried to make it look like I was fully put together at all times.
Trying to be perfect all the time really drains you and gets you to a place where all you want to do is let go. In 2016, I found cocaine, which made hours feel like years to my bipolar brain. It made me feel like I could get back to that little fling I’d had the month before, get him back. And he did it, so why shouldn’t I? I could stay up all night with guys. What was not to love?
This would take me all the way to LA, where I was on coke, dick, or coke AND dick quests every night, while still trying to be as perfect as possible.
This all shattered in 2018 when I became addicted to meth. The illusion of perfection fell away and I felt like I could just be “normal.” It didn’t help that my skin was falling apart, my under-eye circles could darken any room, and I looked like I hadn’t eaten in months.
It’s now 2021 and my depression is in high gear. I no longer post pictures of myself to social media, I’m basically a recluse, and I’m still working on music, but it’s a slow process. Because of the content that I was once putting all over social media has faded, I feel like a shell of my former self.
But as all my posts end, I’m getting help for it. I want to be a brighter, happier person that doesn’t have to feel the need to be perfect in order to post a picture of myself on social media. That day will come, but for now I’m here.
Don’t strive for perfection. Perfection doesn’t exist. Just try to be the best inner version of yourself. I mean, don’t forget basic hygiene. But what I’ve learned from the experience of trying to “perfect” is that even when someone tells you that you are, it’s all a facade. You aren’t letting them know who you really are and that’s the most important thing.