I remember making my bed as a kid. As usual, my mom told me to fix my bed after I ate breakfast. I’d go upstairs and stare at the heap of blankets for a bit. Then I would take off all the covers and lay down the sheet, smoothing out the wrinkles. After that, I would carefully lay down another sheet, and smooth out all the creases in that one as well. Then came my big Hello Kitty bedspread. Once again, I got all the wrinkles out. Next came the hardest part. I went to both sides and made sure that there was the exact same length of fabric hanging off. I would pull it over to one side then the other, all the while checking to make sure I didn’t accidently wrinkle the sheet underneath. After that was perfect, I placed my pillow at the exact center at the head of the bed.
    This process took about 30 minutes every day. And if it was any longer because I couldn’t get the wrinkles out or the fabric wouldn’t become even, I would start crying. I could not leave my room unless it was perfect. My mom found out and told me to leave it be, just make it look better. But once I started, I couldn’t stop.
I needed perfection.

~~~

    I’ve been told over and over, “You can’t be perfect, nothing can.” I would always respond with the same rehearsed line, “I know, but shouldn’t perfection be something we work towards?” This was the answer I gave myself every time I couldn’t stop. Truthfully, I didn’t have a clue why I did it. It was like someone else took over my body and I couldn’t control my actions. I didn’t even have a say.

~~~

    My mom homeschooled me until fifth grade. Before, I never had homework and school was just a bit of the every day routine. If I went fast, I could get done at 12 o’clock and spend the rest of the day playing. But that all changed, quick.
    School was hard. Except in Sunday school, I had never been surrounded by people who weren’t family. What do you say to people who you don’t know already? How are you supposed to act around them? All I had to go off was movies - which weren’t the best representation. And mentally, I was spent. Not only was everything easier at home, but I didn’t understand how a classroom worked. I remember asking Mrs. Chase, my teacher, if I was allowed bring my pencil case home. I had no idea what we were allowed to do and not.
Once, I got a math packet with the entire unit’s work. I took it home that night and completed half of it before I gave up. I went to Mrs. Chase the next day with a hanging head and told her I didn’t finish the homework. She responded with, “What homework?” I learned, that day, not everything I was handed is homework for tomorrow.

~~~

    The biggest difference from home to public school that I struggled with is that no one cried. At home, if I got a less than perfect score on my spelling test I would bawl. At school, people got C’s and D’s without a tear.
The first time I cried was in math class. Mrs. Chase had asked everyone to write on their whiteboards the answers to multiplication problems. I didn’t know the tables and I couldn’t stop the tears.
The next week I was transferred to fourth grade.

~~~

    Because I was so enthusiastic to start kindergarten when I was young, my mom began me a year early. This meant that I was actually with my peers when I transferred, but that didn’t assuage me a bit.
    I made it my personal goal to get back into the next grade. I didn’t tell anyone my goal, but everyday I worked towards it.
    I began pushing myself. I would not accept anything but my best. I spent hours doing my homework and studying. I would even do further study into the subject we were looking into to impress the teacher. School was a race, and I started pulling ahead. I strived to become the perfect student, and I succeeded.

~~~

    In fourth grade, I didn’t move up to fifth grade. In fifth, I didn’t go to sixth grade. Grade after grade, year after year, I didn’t transfer back. Eventually, I gave up hope. But, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t give up the work ethic that had become instilled in me. Every day it was school first, everything later, including health. I took showers, brushed my teeth, and other necessities, but being healthy didn’t extend any further. I started eating malnourishing food because it was fast and easy to prepare. I stopped soccer so I had more time to do my homework. There weren’t enough hours in the day, so I cleared everything unimportant to make more. My schedule consisted of ? school, ? homework, and ? sleep. Perfectionism was ruining my health, and my life.
~~~

     Getting good marks is addicting. Being constantly proud of your work is addicting. Perfection is addicting. But no interventions are held. Nobody tries to help you work through it. No one worries about the inside when the outside looks, well… perfect.
    I can’t achieve perfection, and I know that. Tomorrow, I will fail. Next year, I’ll fail. But even if I did reach that unattainable goal, would I finally be… finished?
No. Unfortunately perfection is not the cure to its own disease.

~~~

    Magic and super powers are awesome. They allow the possessor to do the impossible, be the impossible, live the impossible. Maybe that’s why stories including them are so addicting for me. I decided around twelve that my superpower, if I could pick, would be the ability to slow down time.
    It was always a fight against me and the Time Lord -- which I named Kronos after the mythological titan. He was the enemy, but couldn’t die because titans -- like time -- were immortal. But that didn’t stop me from slowing him down every so often. Those were the moments I got to watch T.V., read comics, and go outside -- the ones I lived for. Inevitably, the Titan Lord won sometimes. Those were the days I missed dinner and stayed up till 2 a.m. doing homework. There was never a definite win or lose in my game. It, unfortunately, continued forever.

~~~

Perfectionism runs a lot of my choices, getting me good grades as well as a lot of stress. But I can suppress it with conscious effort. I tell myself things like, “You’ll get a good grade, it doesn’t have to be better”, “you have other things to do”, or “you can do it tomorrow.” But most of all, I constantly remind myself:
IT DOESN’T HAVE TO BE PERFECT