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  • Adel Szegedi

I don't know where to start - so I start where I am now

First post. For the hundreds of times. Well well...here we are again.


Did I tell you that I've had altogether 8 blogs (I've counted them) from the age of 13, until the current moment?

Of course, I didn't tell you because you presumably never read any of those blogs (at least I hope so) , just because I've systematically and comprehensively abandoned all of them, after discovering that others (usually people who were 15+ years older than me, with journalism degrees and more life experience I could've imagined at the time) are doing things much better than me.

And why would I do anything if there are others out there who are simply just perfect in what they are doing?


Although I must say, the most extended period I managed a blog was nearly a year...which doesn't mean I kept writing it, but at least it shows some enthusiasm.

Just to clarify, I was very enthusiastic every time.

Very, very enthusiastic.


However back then I didn't know about one of my biggest enemies, called Perfectionism.


I mean, she has been part of my life since kindergarten -which is somewhat worrying - but despite this worrisome particle of information, she was the perfect example of a toxic friend.

You know, the one who is nice to you, until you do what she wants. In the opposite case, she simply becomes a b*tch - a combination of your high school bully, the art tutor who is practising slight torture on you because they couldn't make a successful career as an artist - and the neighbour who cooks the smelliest curry right after you deep cleaned your room in the name of the Hope that the last smell-particle of their previous culinary experiment finally vanished from your carpet. It didn't, by the way.


So after my inner bully became the CEO of my mindset at the age of 5 or 6, and since then has been mastering various side-professions, including shapeshifting, appearing as impostor syndrome, social anxiety and some serious-serious self-doubt with a depression-increasing train of thoughts on the top...

so right after that I finally managed a chat with her.


It happened recently - the experience is still fresh as I'm writing this. In the middle of another, very self-sabotage-smelling despair - while I was staring at the self-motivational post-it-forest covering my walls - the realisation (that I have to do something) gently - like a meteor - hit me.


So I sat down, offered my inner bully a seat and some tea





looked into her ice-cold eyes, took a deep breath, and started my monologue.


- Thank you for taking the time to listen to me. I know it's really difficult for you, so I appreciate the effort. It would be a bit easier though if you could take off your noise-cancelling headphones. Thank you.

So...I think it's time for some change.....and end things. For real now.

I've been self-sabotaging myself for over a decade - and more - without creating the life that I'd actually love to live.

I am not perfect and you have to accept it.

Moreover - no one is perfect. Neither you.

It's shocking, of course, it is, mainly because the ones that you take as examples to compare us to are only perfect in pretending that their life is perfect - and aesthetic and social-media compatible...

Yeah, I know that we stopped caring about the aesthetic aspect in 2019 but still...

And it's okay to be unaesthetic and imperfect - because we need moments when we can scream, from the bottom of our lungs (preferably in the middle of a field to avoid disturbing the neighbours) or do some ugly crying (no, not when we think that we look beautiful even when tears are blurring our vision - the ugly one when snot is flowing on our chin and we look like a very pitiable reddish).

We need these moments because it is human to be a pitiable reddish sometimes.

And since we are hypersensitive, the sometimes might be a more frequent thing.

I appreciate that you were always with me and were trying to help based on your best knowledge - but instead of hugging me, you just kicked me and shouted at me: "Stop whining, get your shit together and do what others do! Fake it til you make it"

This is what you said like it wasn't a caption from an Instagram post.

And I took your advice, I took it seriously. However, I applied it to the wrong aspect of my life.

Until now, I was faking that you are not a permanent tenant in my head - but now it is time to finally say good goodbye and make the lack of your presence to be a real thing.

Because I can't make any progress if I'm constantly relapsing into the weird and very self-damaging atmosphere you create in my head.

So...as I said, hundreds of times...we need to break up.


She stared at me, her face is a caleidoscope of emotions: anger, disguise, disappointment, anger and then some dark amusement. She arrived to the point of ice-cold calmness, then stood up, pinched an invisible fluff from her super tight pencil skirt (she always dressed like a stereotypical personal assistant), took a sip of the tea - it's cold - said, cleared her throat then started to walk towards the door. Before reaching it, she suddenly turned around, drilling her gaze into mine:


- I already knew you would say these - after all, I know you better than you know yourself.

Life is tough, little girl. And you are naive. You see the best in people, even if they treat you like shit. You make excuses for them. You think they can change. You think you can change their point of view of the world without directly changing them.

You are a fool. And you are going to die without me.


The last words were delivered with the most terrifying voice I've ever heard from her, giving an otherworldly shadow to the darkness in her gaze, revealing the demonic possessiveness she has been using for many years as her best weapon.


She was scared - I realised, and she knew that I did because she growled like a rabid, and - still keeping the demonic eye contact - she kicked into a chair, knocked a porcelain pelican from the table in the hallway and slapped the front door behind her, leaving the echo of her fading footsteps and toxic breath behind her.


I don't know long I was sitting there when I realised that she left. For real now.

It was a painful breakup, but at the same time, I felt lighter - and happier - than ever.


I poured some hazelnut milk into my tea, grabbed the last gluten-free chocolate chip cookie and opened my laptop.


...


Actually, she was right about one thing.

I'd die without her.

I already did - however, the particles of my mind and body that stored her presence now decomposed, giving rich soil for a new, healthy self of mine.


I'm also glad she ate the cookies because they tasted like cardboard.



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