I can't remember where I started. A foundation was laid, but I don't know where. I've only been building up since then. I kept building and building and building. More, more, more. They always wanted more. They wanted cute, and then they wanted pretty, and then they wanted gorgeous. They wanted clever, and then they wanted smart, and then they wanted genius. They wanted good, and then they wanted better, and then they wanted best.
I kept going and going, a machine that ran on expectations. I never stopped, because it always seemed like the moment I did, the world would fall apart. So I kept on. The ground floor, the original, was long forgotten, even though it held up the entire structure. It grew weak. Weak from holding up the entirety of me without any acknowledgement. It grew weak from always giving and never getting.
The original, it held up my gorgeous, it held up my genius, it held up my best. I made sure the structure was solid and strong. Nothing would be knocking it over. But a structure is nothing without its foundation, and my foundation was all but ready to crumble to the ground.
But they kept on wanting. More, more, more. I was the poster child for perfection. I was the spokesmodel for infallibility. But that was never enough.
Did you hear about Victoire's meltdown during lunch?
Did you hear about Victoire hiding away in the Astronomy Tower all afternoon?
Did you hear about Victoire's boyfriend with blue hair and ear piercings?
Did you hear Victoire did something wrong?
And it was never enough for them. Where one thing went right, something else went terribly wrong. Where I succeeded, something else was horribly failed. I kept building and building and building. An empty tower made of wet sand. Reinforced with pretty smiles and emotional walls.
They believe I can. They believe in me. They believe I can be better. They want me to be better. They want, want, want. They want an angel from a human. They want a star made of flesh and bones.
I hammer and tinker and build, build, build. I'm putting make-up on top of books on top of a crumbling little girl who doesn't want to be better. A crumbling little girl who is trying so hard to hold up the expectations for everybody. A crumbling little girl with a gap-toothed smile who thinks that chocolate milk comes from chocolate cows. She isn't too bright, and she isn't too pretty. But she loves her family and friends, and she'd do anything for them, even hold up a giant building of books and make-up and expectations with a pretty doll on top that keeps building and building.
I don't want to build anymore. I want to be happy. But I want them to be happy. And they want me to be perfect.