I am tired of being two different girls.
The girl I am in my solitude and my computer time and with my sister, and the girl I am around my family. They are in an utter disharmony. I am very frustrated with the quiet other Megan, affected so much by the material things she saw at the store today. The Megan who still cares, and feels that pull to be other than herself. She feels she must conform to high fashion, spend hours dressing her hair, wear perfume, lots of makeup, and just be immensely girly.
But then there is the other Megan. The one I feel most at home in. The one who feels most me. And she doesn't care about being materialistic. She has come to dread shopping. She is no frump, but her clothing choices are rather eccentric. She wants to wear mini skirts over jeans and specially cut up shirts. She has a flair for the abnormal that society (and her parents) might not accept. She is neat and tidy and clean always, but never glamourous. Makeup and nail polish and perfumes and hairspray and fancy products are not her thing. Chapstick, lotion, and a good hair brush and she is happy forever. It is plenty for her.
The first Megan won't accept this though. And they fight. And they war. And it tires me. The first is so boring and conformist. She is so hard to live up to for she accepts nothing less than perfection. But she is the one wielding the lust for acceptance. My simpler side cannot fight it. My simpler side will coincide to it. Because the simpler side wants acceptance also. I am more than reconciled to my simpler side, but I just don't feel that it would be widely accepted. Heaven forbid not being accepted. So I struggle against the tide of my being to be what I am not.
To be pretty.
To be girly.
To be pretty.
To be perfect.
Outwardly.
An impossibility. All of them. I am fighting to change things I can't. At all. I can't make myself taller. I can't change my facial features. And I get so upset and fed up. Yet I keep fighting the fight. And my mother encourages it. Encourages my girliness. Complains that I won't fix my hair. She cajoles my father into buying me cosmetics and girly things. And I feel the pressure. The pressure to be what I am not.
The pressure to be perfect. I always pressure myself into perfection. In everything. Always. Perfect. And its a dangerous obsession. It taxes me. I can feel it pressing me down. Binding me. Its my natural self that I haven't escaped yet. And someday, I am afraid it will all explode out of me and I will do something rash. I don't know what, but I feel the pressure building and building...pressing and pressing... Sometimes I fear it would manifest itself in another beating. I just have to stop it before then.
And I feel so shallow. I can't explain it any better than feeling like I am drowning in it. I try to kick and fight my way back to the surface and back to myself, but I can't seem to overcome it. Yet I have been fighting for years, and I have made some progress, and I think I am closer to the surface, and to staying above it, than I have ever been before.