6:45. I wake up late. I run to my closet, trying to pick out my clothes for the day. I throw on tights, shorts, a comfy t-shirt, and a cardigan. I glance at my phone. 6:55. Only ten more minutes to get ready. Rather than run to the kitchen for a quick breakfast before brushing my teeth, like a sensible person, I sit down on my bed to do my makeup. I will be late for the bus, and my focus is on how my face looks. I ignore the growl from my stomach as I smear on various eyeshadows. Now for the hard part. I nearly press my nose to the stone cold mirror to get the perfect angle. Holding down my eyelid, I glide the black pigment across my lash line. I'm doing fine until... my hand slips, and my perfect eyeliner is besmirched by a microscopic blob of black liquid. It's barely noticeable, but I know it's there, and that is all that matters. Fighting back tears and taking frantic glances at the clock, I wipe off the makeup and start over. Smear the eyeshadow. Glide the pigment. Wing the liner. Not good enough. I start over, yet again. Smear. Glide. Wing. Finally. It's dark, smooth, razor sharp, and, best of all, perfect. I look out my window to see the bus drive past my house. I run out of my room and profusely apologize to my parents. As my mom drives me to school, I am still wringing my hands and whispering, "I'm so sorry", between nervous breaths.

My anxiety kills me as I stare up at my stark white ceiling, trying to get my brain to shut up. Even though it is two o'clock in the morning, I am just getting into bed after slaving over my Dante project for Freshman English. Though my favorite Streetlight Manifesto song is playing at full blast, I can barely hear it over my brain's wild argument. One half of my mind is saying that I worked as hard as I could to create an admirable reflection of myself; the other half is screaming that it is sloppy, rushed, and could be better. I am stuck with the demons in my head; ones that never got a chance to be put in my personal Hell. I struggle to reach for my favorite lotion as my entire body shivers with fear. My hand shakes so much as I pry the lid open that the sound of clattering plastic echoes in my room. As I lift the container to my nose, I deeply inhale the sweet citrus scent. With each breath, the monster in my brain slowly quiets down, just in time to hear the final chords of the song. I give myself one final meager cheer of encouragement before slowly lowering my head to my pillow in an attempt to get an hour or two of sleep before my presentation in the morning. As I wake up the following day, I am exhausted and still a bit shaken even after handing in the assignment. My little monster keeps whispering in my ear until I receive my grade: an A+.

Though I try to convince myself that the grade is worth all the worry, I know that I need to fix my problem. Nearly a week later, I'm in the same state; my eyes are glued to the ceiling above my bed. I am paralyzed with fear that I didn't study enough for my geometry final. "You'll fail". "You'll surely pass". My mind is arguing again, but before there is a chance for me to spend another sleepless night, I turn up the volume of my music to drown out the yelling. I focus on each word and each note in attempts to calm my inner battle. "When you wake up, everything is going to be fine. I guarantee that you'll wake in a better place, and in a better time"; Thomas Kalnoky's lyrics reassure me that my worries will eventually be solved. Again, I grab my citrus lotion and take a deep breath in... and out. With each breath, I grow calmer. Finally, I fall back into my pillow, close my eyes, and gently fall to sleep, knowing that I'll be fine in the morning.

6:15. A little on the late side, but it will do. I throw on my comfortable worn sweatpants and a t-shirt. I cover my frizzy locks with a beanie. I press my nose against the stone cold mirror and hold down my eyelid to glide on the black pigment. My hand shakes a little, but I ignore the splotch of eyeliner that turns the smooth surface into a jagged line. I don't bother fixing it, knowing that is doesn't really matter. Perfection, though it is one of my best attributes, does not need to be my most important attribute. I feel much more at ease knowing that I can accomplish excellence without all the stress.