A Letter to Myself

I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t love you the way you want me to. I try a lot but it’s hard. This wave of insecurity always washes ashore and refuses to leave easily. It flows through my face and my body, telling me that I’m not enough. It shows me pictures and magazine covers with perfections woven in them. I try to swim through it only to fall inside again. It now seeps through my mind and my soul, whispering wickedly about my weaknesses. I look around and search for comfort but the wave starts choking me. It clasps my hand and doesn’t let me escape. I feel trapped. Trapped in a glass box of my own conscience, that breaks easily only to pierce me again. It starts swallowing me until I finally give up and start believing the wave’s words. I start drinking and consuming its theories. The wave starts releasing its hold on me. I start feeling better. I start breathing until I realize that I’m actually drowning. All this while, I wasn’t consuming the wave. It was consuming me and my soul. I start sinking and I see the glass box again. Stuck in between, what do I do? Do I let my insecurities shatter my confidence? Or do I fight it, only to face them again and again?