Fight Club

I finished reading Fight Club today while my hair was processing at the salon. I will admit that Fight Club is not the ‘typical’ book I would pick up to read, but I am considering getting a new tattoo with a quote from the book. I figured I had no right to use a quote from a book I’ve never read, so here we are. If you have never read it, I recommend reading it. I think you will be pleasantly surprised like I was. 
The quote I am considering is this:

“May I never be complete. 

May I never be content. 

May I never be perfect.” 

This quote followed another great quote “if you don’t know what you want, you end up with a lot you don’t.”

I think Chuck Palahniuk is talking about how young people think they want and need the whole world, but that is just because we don’t know what we want. Not really. We end up with loads of things we don’t want. Bad friends, bad choices, bad relationships, bad grades, unflattering jeans, impulsive decisions, etc. 

Life is so hard. I would like to say it’s gotten easier the older I’ve gotten, but it hasn’t. High school was bloody awful. College wasn’t much better. Getting a big girl job. Adulting. Girls are still mean and catty. Guys are still jerks and cheat on their girlfriends. The pressure to be this person with no flaws with their life completely together. 

Towards the end of the book, there is another quote:

 “I felt trapped. 

I was too complete. 

I was too perfect. 

I wanted a way out of my tiny life.”

That was exactly me. I was trapped. On the outside looking in I was complete. I was too perfect. I worked so hard to put on that mask of perfection. I worked out and ate healthy to have a perfect body. I worked hard to get into a prestigious nursing school so I could get my highly competitive nursing job. I worked overtime and never took a day off so I could be a perfect nurse. I listened to music I didn’t like so I could be familiar with a song if someone asked me. I never said no, because I could handle everything. I was in a toxic relationship because it looked good on paper. I volunteered, I went to church, I visited my mama. I never slept. I was put on a pedal stool and I killed myself to stay there. My life was so put together, except when it wasn’t. I was so good at faking perfection, no one knew me anymore. I was slowly dying and no one knew the difference. 

Then one lonely night, it got to much. Perfect Jorie died that night. It took a long time to figure out the real me. I had to give up the persona I was so used to slipping on every morning. I couldn’t play with eating disorders and be ‘Mia.’ I couldn’t self harm. I was either perfect Jorie or this dark and twisted Jorie that no one knew about. I had to give up everything. I’ve never had something so hard to break up with in my life. 

Everyday I woke up and made the decision to just be, well, me. I learned more about myself, but more importantly, I learned to love myself. I started making myself a priority. I started going to see movies or go to a restaurant alone. I got involved in ministries that mean something to me. I started spending weekends at bookstores because I love reading. I ended some relationships. I rescued a shih tzu named FRIG. I learned to say no. I started taking naps. I learned I am pretty good company. I did a lot of things that were ‘uncharacteristic’ for the old me. I stopped caring what other people thought. 

My life is messy. It’s not put together. The standard location for my shoes is the middle of the floor. I still have a bad ass job that I love, but my world doesn’t revolve around it anymore. I’m married to the most extraordinary man, even though we are not traditional. Most days I don’t brush my hair. I work out still, but I also eat sweets. My life is not tiny anymore; it’s so big and wonderful. I’m not perfect. I’m not complete. And I’m pretty dang thrilled about it. 



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