Perfection

I want to be perfect.

It’s something that I’ve struggled with all my life, the cause of many depressive episodes. I know that it’s something unattainable but it’s still what I thrive to, even though it’s the very thing that kills me inside.

I need to be perfect.

I know that it’s impossible but it’s a need I can’t quench. If I’m not the best, then what’s the point? If I can’t come out on top, then why bother? Why go through all the motions if I’m going fail?

I hate the word: Failure.

I can never be less than, I must never be less than. My peers, colleagues, family or even strangers. If I’m not at the same level as them or higher, I see no worth in that.

What does it mean: Worth?

I base my worth on being the best. If I can’t be then, ultimately, I’m worthless, useless, obsolete. I see no point in being in a space, where I’m not perfect because then I’m replaceable.

Irreplaceability, what I yearn for.

At the end of the day, that’s what it all boils down to. If you aren’t the best, you get replaced with something- someone- better. That is a fear of mine. I guess you could say that my self-worth and self-esteem is incredibly fragile, and I’d say that you are spot on. If, by being perfect validates my self-worth then I’ll chase it till I die.

Because I’m too broken to validate myself.