I’m Proud of You. No You’re Not.

Celebrations. Balloons. Cakes. Banners.

All are things celebrating me.

But no matter how much icing there is on top of the ice cream cake or however many "Class of 2023" balloons dance with the wind outside of my house,

I will never feel full. Or proud. Or Satisfied.

I will convince myself that I didn't do enough. I should've been better. Doesn't matter what it is, I should've been the best at it. All of my sleepless nights that came with dark and puffy eyes, were not enough. Even after getting the entire lower half of my face reconstructed, cut, sliced, and stitched back together again, it is not enough. Enduring extreme waves of depression and manic episodes that consisted of impulsivity and self-sabotage, it was never even close to being enough.

As I stand tall with a cap on my head surrounded by family and friends,

I hold it all inside.

Because I know that there is still work to be done.

And work cannot get done

If I am standing still for pictures and cutting pieces of cake to share.

I must get back to work.

I must be on top.

Because I am afraid that if I'm not...

Then I will never truly be seen and appreciated by the only two people I want to please.

My parents.

I will work endlessly and tirelessly just for you to be proud of me.

Even if it takes everything inside me.

Even if that means I lose myself a couple of dozen times in between.

I am willing to sacrifice until I have nothing left to give.

So if you could do me a favor, please.

Freeze the cake and deflate the balloons, I have work to do.

Hopefully, by then, I will feel worthy enough for them.