Mental Health

Perfect… That’s what they expect us to be. The sweet little flawless, desirable, smart, and pretty 16 year old girl they always wanted. The one who wakes up at 6:00am to clean the house before the bus comes. The one who plays on a varsity sports team and is president of 6 different clubs. The one who comes home and studies for hours before helping to cook dinner. The one who is mommy and daddy’s perfect girl, just how he was mommy and daddy’s perfect boy.

I have never been that girl. I never could be. I’m not like my brother; I don’t have perfect grades, I break the rules, miss the bus, and am not athletic. A let down if you will, but it’s who I am. Don’t get me wrong though, I try. I really do try to fit their idealistic expectations of me. I work hard everyday, pushing myself further than I can go until all I am known as is the “try hard.” If it's not a try hard, it's a nerd, or pick me. Whatever it is, it’s never perfect.

In my book, perfect is unreasonable. No matter what I do or how hard I work I can never reach that standard. When I get close, my mind exerts the force of a 18-wheeler truck dumping all the negativity of “you don’t deserve this” on me. You don’t deserve your parents’ approval. You don’t deserve the company of your friends. You don’t deserve to be president of the National Honor Society. You don’t deserve to be perfect. 

It’s never enough is it? Not for them, not for me, not for anyone. The constant drive to be better just to meet the definition of a delightful 7 letter word. I push though, I keep pushing until I have nothing left to give. Until my thoughts pull me deeper and deeper into the downward spiral of “you're a disappointment.” Then I am not only a disappointment, but a failure too. I let my parents down. I showed emotion. I showed weakness. 

I was told I had it easy. Back in their day, they had to walk 3 miles to school, they didn’t have cell phones, they didn’t have their own rooms. The times have changed, but the standards have not. I am still held to those levels that my immigrant parents grew up in. I am sorry, I wasn’t born in 1972. I am sorry, you had to go through so much. I am sorry, but I am not ok.

Still I stand alone in comparison to them. They don’t care for the fact that I need help. They care for the fact that I am not perfect. My brother, only 15 months older, could do it all, so why can’t I. I may put in more effort, but he always yields better results. And when my brother fails, it's ok. He is still better than you.

Sometimes I think that it’s my fault. Why couldn’t I simply be better? But it’s not just me. 1 billion people; Out of the 8,016,940,460 people breathing the air on our planet, approximately 1 billion of us struggle to breathe for ourselves. We breathe for those standards. The standard of perfection that society forces on us. 

Then our lives are not in our own hands. They are in the hands of whatever deity sets the standard of perfection. I am not sure why perfection came to be, but with it came the feeling of not being good enough. It’s a crippling sensation where you're helpless, left alone in a room filled with nothing but darkness. Those constant thoughts pulling you down until you're sinking into the corner of your room. That feeling you get as if you're gasping for air, gasping for someone, gasping for something, but there is nothing there. All that’s left is you and imperfections buzzing around like mosquitos sucking all that’s left out of you. 

That's the feeling. The one that develops into a mental illness. The one that causes nearly 8 million deaths each year. Mental illnesses expand beyond those who have passed away though. 1 in 8 people around the world think they aren’t good enough to live. 1 in 5 people think they aren’t good enough, period. Think of your parents, siblings, friends, or co-workers. At least 1 of them bites their nails or anxiously taps their foot when they have to present their imperfections to the world. 

This shouldn’t be the case. Each day that perfect lives, people die. Individuals, specifically minorities, suffer alone because in their generation, mental illnesses did not exist. To them, mental illnesses are imperfections meant to be hidden away behind sunshine and smiles. We often think that they are acknowledged in today's day and age; however, for many people they are still alone.

Asians, African Americans, Hispanics, and many other multicultural groups struggle to find someone who understands. We can’t speak freely, because our people don’t understand. We can’t get adequate help because our country doesn’t understand. Yet, there is nothing being done. Society continues to find imperfections and we continue to bear them. 

Cultural and structural barriers stand in the way of adequate mental health resources. Nearly one-third of Muslim Americans are excluded or ignored in healthcare settings. 2.7 million Asian Americans/Pacific Islanders have a mental and/or substance use disorder that is left unattended. And although LGBTQ+ individuals are more than twice as likely as heterosexual men and women to have a mental health disorder in their lifetime, they still receive less care. These disparities exist all because we aren’t your ‘perfect’ citizens. 

Every 40 seconds, a person dies from suicide. Every 31 seconds, someone attempts suicide. That’s 1,104,825 people in the United States alone who stopped breathing because they felt that unexplainable feeling where there was nothing left for them. They couldn’t find help and they couldn’t afford care. No one understood their imperfections.

Our imperfections are not something we choose. Mental illnesses are not something we choose. But these things make us who we are, and that is beautiful. Instead of being looked at as flawed or a failure, we as society need to redefine perfect. Perfect is not some one person completely free from faults or defects, it is everyone, everywhere regardless of race, gender, beliefs,etc.. 

We set our own expectations of perfect. I may have tanner skin then the rest, come from a different place, and enjoy different things, but I am perfect. The sweet little flawed, but beautiful 16 year old girl I always have been.