Dear readers, friends, and general internet community,
I wish to inform you that I have deeply failed you and in fact, have perpetuated a societal flaw that I hypocritically have stated that I abhor.
I am guilty of presenting myself as though my life is perfect.
And I am deeply ashamed.
It may seem that my life is going great. No, I know it seems that way because that is the way that I have made certain it seems. You only see the posts to inform you of my new exotic locations, the service I’m doing, the accolades I won, the mile-markers I’ve accomplished, the friends I’ve made, the smiles and laughs I had.
While these are true, it’s not nearly the whole truth. Because, like everyone, I chose to show you my highlight reel, excluding the raw footage.
So, to no longer be a pawn in the game, I am going to break a social taboo and tell you of the unflattering times.
Last year when I arrived to campus after France, I had the worst blues. I was so depressed that I spent my most of my afternoons locked in my room with the lights off, sleeping or watching Netflix, barely going to meals if I went at all. There were no sepia-colored pictures to be seen of that.
In Haiti, my skin broke out constantly due to sunscreen, sweat, and dust every day. In fact, I carefully chose the pictures that I put on my blog or Facebook because I was embarrassed. I would literally be holding a child or had my arms wrapped around a student who purely loved “Maggie Tout Sauce” for me, not my skin, and I was ashamed. I was so shallow that I pushed away cherished moments. I’m positive no pictures of that was shared.
Yesterday, I was ugly to one of my apartment-mates. When I was home, I wasn’t a good sister. Sometimes, I’m a lousy daughter. I suck at communication with my friends in Indy. You’ll never see a tweet from me stating “Instead of texting my friend back who sounded sad and lonely, I laid on the floor and watched a movie! Lol! Classic me!”
I have gotten away with it for so long because I tell myself that others are doing this way more than I am, so what does one braggy post really matter? I don’t Photoshop my face, or post racy pictures for attention. My wall doesn’t show pictures of me at parties or with a different guy in each album. So what does it matter?
I live in a culture of dishonesty. As much as we crave to be genuine and unique, to be any kind of shade of sincere, we literally lie and deceit to look like we are. No one wants to see the ugly, the broken, the pitiful. We want to see the pictures of carefully-executed silly faces and smiles in front of some foreign location, not the fetal-position crying that inevitably follows solo travel.
But I’m here to tell you that I am indeed ugly, broken, and pitiful. I’m not going to hide it (but in the spirit of moderation, I also won’t exploit and exhibit it either ((no one likes self-deprecation))) any longer because that’s a disservice to a messy part of myself that I like. I reclaim myself for myself.
I will try to more honest and less ravenous for attention. I will try to show the challenges throughout my upcoming trials. I will try to be me, not Facebook Maggie.