The Brutal Truth About Falling For ‘Mr. Perfect’

Sometimes you meet someone who seems absolutely perfect for you. Sometimes it goes really well for a while. And then it all falls apart.

Mr. Perfect, will you please come off of your high horse and sit down with me?

I know you’re busy pointing out everyone’s flaws so you don’t have to focus on yourself, but I just want to talk.

Will you listen?

I know you love the sound of your own voice but promise me you’ll try.

Please have a seat and let’s have a drink while you try to fix me. Oh wait, never mind—you can’t have a drink without relapsing. I forgot, Mr. perfect. My apologies.

Always looking over your shoulder for the next best thing, you actually think you deserve whatever you please. I mean why not? After all, you’re Mr. perfect.

You’re so emotionally unavailable and lost. Yet, here you are trying to guide everyone else. But where are we going, Mr. perfect? Oh wait, you don’t know. Then why the f*ck are you leading?

If I had a dollar for every time you brought up your ex, I would buy my own drinks. Why would you think comparing me to her would make me feel good? Why would you think putting another woman down would make you look good?

Mr. Perfect, I finally figured you out. You always leave before they leave you. Does it hurt less that way? Does it make it easier for you to sleep at night? Or are you slowly breaking inside, knowing that no one ever really tries to stay?

Please remind me again how I don’t love myself even though you’re the one who’s been depressed and I’m the one who’s been there to lift you up. Tell me about how special I am today but how boring I am tomorrow. Remind me again how my expectations are too high when all I wanted was for you to ask about my day. Whoops, silly me, we’re only allowed to talk about you… After all, the sun rises and sets just for you.

Oh, Mr. perfect, today you want me but tomorrow you’re over me. Today you can’t get enough of my naked body, but tomorrow your insecure heart is searching for attention somewhere else. I’m sorry for being so confused. Please be patient with me, I’m doing my best to keep up.

You’re just so smart and wise. You really do know everything, don’t you Mr. Perfect? Well except how to love, that is.

You’re blowing up my phone, but I’m the needy one. You send me photos all day long, but I’m the one that craves constant validation. You lean on me for laughs so you can forget just how empty you are inside, but I’m the insecure one. Please tell me again how I bring more bad than good, and how I’m not worth the fight. Because I thought I was.

You pretend to be so perfect but I see now that you’re not. How will you ever find love if no one is ever good enough? Are your unrealistic standards just too high? Or is it that you just don’t love yourself enough to accept someone else’s love?

Oh, Mr. perfect, you tricked me and used my secrets against me. Instead of learning how to love me, you were busy tearing me apart. You dumped your negativity onto me and I took it, because you made me believe I deserved it. How twisted are you. Always over-analyzing, trying to control the situation, pointing out my flaws as if I don’t already see them, hanging on my every word, and waiting for me to fail. I didn’t realize love was about manipulating and fighting to have the upper hand.

But you see, Mr. Perfect, I knew you came broken. I could read you like a book— I saw chapters in you where you saw empty pages, and every day I couldn’t wait to read more. I found your flaws endearing, I was willing to take you as you are. To me, your flaws and your pain made you that much more beautiful, inside and out. Too bad you couldn’t do the same with me.

Damn, Mr. Perfect, you got in my head and under my skin. I’ve never met anyone like you before. Like one of your songs, you played me and now I can never listen to that song again.

Every time you looked at me, it was as if you saw right through me. That scared me. I didn’t like it. You’re so good with your words. You’re so good at pretending to care, so good that I almost fell for you. But I learned my lesson. I don’t want you looking at me anymore. I don’t want you talking to me anymore. I just want you to leave.

But you’re already gone. I guess I made that pretty easy. You challenged my self-sabotaging ways; you told me that love was too hard with me, so I proved you right. So there, you win. I gave up. Just like you predicted, I pushed you away. And here I am, all alone, writing this poem.

And I feel like such a fool for thinking you were different—for being too blind to see I wasn’t the only one standing in front of you, for believing you liked me for me, and for wanting us to be something. You’re just an insecure mean little boy who needs a lot of attention while you’re busy finding yourself. And I’m just a stupid naïve little girl for thinking you could be my prince charming. Because fairytales don’t exist—you reminded me of that.

I hope you find all the laughter and love you’re looking for, Mr. Rockstar. I hope you find yourself and figure out how to fill that void you feel inside. I hope you find your soulmate and I hope she’s as perfect as you are.

I’m sorry I couldn’t meet your standards. I’m sorry you weren’t able to fix me. I’m sorry you’re clearly hurting and I’m sorry I won’t be around for you to knock me down so you can feel better about yourself.

Most of all, though, I’m not sorry that we met, because you showed me exactly who I don’t want to become. I could never be as heartless as you. I may feel a lot, I may be intense at times, but I like me just the way I am. And one day, I will find someone who feels the same way.

One of these days on these American nights, when you’re all alone and you’ve got no one left to sing along, you’ll come back and try to play my song, but I’m so sorry, because this melody is broken and you’re the one that played me wrong. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

This story originally appeared on Daddy Issues LA.

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