I am a hypocrite.

And, when I say that, I don't mean to scare you off. I do not partake in the malicious hypocrisy in which I say one thing only to give a guilty conscience or to leave a scarring impact and then do another. In fact, I'm just the opposite.

I will tell you that you don't need anybody to complete yourself; that you are already complete. I will beg you to love yourself and to try and view yourself through the same lens that I do. When you are crying, I will hold you, and I will tell you that you are beautiful, loved, and cherished. I will give you advice in an attempt to calm the storm within your soul. I'm often guilty of saying things such as, "Have faith in yourself!" and "Brave through the storm."

But, the truth is, I fall apart every single night. Instead of loving myself, I nit-pick at everything that makes me who I am. I hate my body and the stretch marks on my skin, and I hate my laugh and my squinty-eyed smile. I hate the way I part my hair and the way I fidget when I'm nervous. Instead of remembering my value and self-worth, I will convince myself that I am worthless and that my life has no merit. Instead of braving through the storm, I yell at the God who gave it to me and allow it to overtake me in the hopes that it will carry me off to somewhere less painful.

I am a hypocrite, but I mean well. I only wish that I could overcome my own hypocrisy so that, while I support others, I can fully support myself. The truth is, a lifeboat with holes is worthless to others, in the end.

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