Imperfect

This is not a cry for help, this is my truth.
This is not a ploy for attention, this is my life.
Did I ask for this? This pain? This is pain.
Not one bit.
But with the prize and aesthetics comes the reality that one must face.
So, I got help.
But here I remain, living my life through the eyes of the past while glancing forward at the past, the present, the future.
The me I once was, the me I am, the me I will be, all in one.
My wants, needs, desires, hopes, and dreams all melting into one another.
I remain, imperfection.
I tasted, perfection.
My mouth dry hoping for that taste to come again, knowing that it cannot happen.
I'm not strong enough, or rather, I'm stronger than I imagined.
Stuck in the spiraling staircase I plunge forward, each step lighter than the next. Or heavier.
Who knows?
Who is to be the deciding factor?
Me and all my imperfection.