This is a soliloquy I wrote for a screenplay. The story is semi-autobiographical and centers around a character living with the effects of C-PTSD.
I’m imperfect. This statement is not meant
as an excuse; it is how I was raised. The
expectation of perfection hung over my head,
always. And I always knew that I was never
going to reach it. Church reinforced that we
are all imperfect in the face of God. We can
never satisfy his holy criteria. We can never
reach the perfection that he demands…but
there is an out…a safety valve…[sarcastically]
JESUS CHRIST. Jesus came and died for us
and became intercessor. Fucking A! But that
is all bullshit. I know that now. I knew it then.
And I knew it at home especially, when dear
old mom, “only demanded perfection.” So I
was born a loser. And I knew really fucking
early on. Imperfect. Falling short of God and
almighty mom. And this has been the source of
all that has gone wrong with my life.