When I was little I always thought perfect meant a blonde headed, guitar player, who was a superstar. Basically, Hannah Montana was my idea as perfect, but as I grew up my image of perfect always changed. It went from a sweet headed superstar to a skinny, perfect student, sweetheart. That I was never. Growing up I never appreciated what I had. I always wanted more. My biggest insecurity was my thighs. I used to have skinny legs, but ever since I didn’t take care of myself. My thighs got bigger and so did my insecurity. I grew up with perfect sisters, and perfect people everywhere. I started to feel depressed. I tried everything to change. I starved myself. I tried to bind my legs. I felt like going to the gym took forever to get my legs that way. I stopped focusing on my grades. And for what? So I can fit in society. So I can have all the boys like me. To some people, it might seem stupid, but to me it was everything. Every time I left my house. I stared at my huge fat self in the mirror. Why did this happen to me I thought. By trying to achieve that one silly little thing I was losing everything. My grades were dropping, my relationships were dying, and I started to never leave the house. I felt so depressed. I felt like I didn’t fit into society. I wondered why I couldn’t be as perfect as all my other friends. It started to get too deep. Then I started to realize that some people have it worse. Some people are blind, or disabled and I was upset that I was fat. It made me realize that there is no perfect. Perfect only lives in the mind.