The definition of perfection is being entirely without fault or defect. A person or thing without error. A person immune to scrutiny and criticism. A thing without cracks or blemishes. A person without fault, without hypocrisy and without contradiction. Perfectionism is something that many of us struggle with and something that has permeated my life and my psyche with obnoxious intensity.
If perfectionism is impossible, why am I so obsessed with it? Even while writing this, I’m attempting to find the perfect words to convey the entirety of what I’m feeling and thinking. I want to get this entry out with minimal editing and minimal logical faults while also encompassing all the facets of this issue in one attempt. I’m not even sure where the point of this is going, other than to convey my relationship with perfection in hopes that someone else may feel understood themselves and understand me.
If I’m being perfectly honest, I hate imperfect things and imperfect people. In turn, I also hate that I am imperfect myself. I truly hate it. I’ve always hated it. I’ve always been too much for some people and not enough for others. Too loud, not helpful enough, too quiet, not assertive enough, too big, not selfless enough, too small, not logical enough, too stubborn, not skinny enough, too independent, not consistent enough, too clingy, not competent enough, too impulsive, not considerate enough, too bossy, not productive enough, too passive, not submissive enough, too self-pitying, not practical enough, too overthinking, not compliant enough, too dominant, too nosey, too curious, too dreamy, too much “attitude”, too [fill in the blank].
I’ve always felt the need to filter myself depending on who I’m with, so that I’m perfect for them. Depending on who I’m with, they only see a certain facet of me, only a version of me that they can stomach. While this doesn’t completely prevent people’s blows at me, it definitely lessens it and at least I’m not being outright rejected and left behind. You can imagine the exhaustion I feel after being with groups of people, having to maintain a strong and demure, watered down facade of who I really am. Although I very much wish that I could just turn this off like a switch, it’s often automatic and unconscious. It just takes hold of me. I hide in the recesses of my inner world and my deep inner self, while my mask does the rest for me. It’s like I’m hijacked by a subconscious autopilot system.
I’ve always been a relational person. I value my relationships and I value intimacy in all the various ways that it comes in. I also value truth, and paradoxically, I cannot be my full true self with any one person. I hate it when I can’t “get it right” with any one person; when I can’t figure them out enough for me to mould myself around them. Rejection and abandonment is a painful thing. So much so that it’s unbearable enough that I seemingly cannot stop myself from filtering, monitoring, and eventually moulding myself to whoever I’m with, despite my awareness of these patterns. It’s infuriating. I logically understand and acknowledge this about me, but there’s something inside me that says “no, you need to show this and hide this about you”. Some people take pride in being undefined, misunderstood, and unknown. Some people take pride in being the chameleon that no one truly sees. Perhaps there is value and strength in owning yourself that way and letting the world burn you at the stake as you remain self-possessed. But for me, it’s unbearably excruciating. I crave to be known, yet I’m terrified of it. I crave mutual harmony, understanding and truth, while I keep my deepest and truest self locked away.
When the world around you is determined to misunderstand you, twist your words, misinterpret your intentions, and thus hold you accountable for these things, what else is there to do? For a sensitive person like me, my method is to hide. I’ve hid for most of my life while the people around me think they “know me”. Family members think they understand me, friends and colleagues think they know me. The only things they see are what I consistently portray on the outside. The mask. They love my propensity to make myself useful. They hate my inherent aversion to authority and being bossed around. They know I like heavy metal. They know I hate meatloaf. Yet, I have this aching and gnawing void inside that knows I’m deeply alone and misunderstood. My attempts in the past of opening myself and overexplaining myself has led to nothing but exploitation and fault-finding. Additionally, after most conversations involving me revealing deeper layers of myself, I lose sleep at night wishing I hadn’t told these people what I had just told them. Was it too forward too soon? Was it too much? Too sensitive? Too awkward? Will they exploit that information down the road?
Even when I’m completely alone, I imagine someone with me and I will filter myself to suit the particular person I imagine is in the room with me. My opinions, my word choices, my mannerisms, and even my motivation levels change from one moment to the next. In a way, I’m living through this imaginary person in the room with me. It could be my crush, or my mom, my dad, my brother, my sister, my friend or colleague, or even just a random person I admire. I hate that I feel that I can’t even let myself be. Who am I? I feel fake. I feel like a fraud, always accessing versions of myself through other people instead of just being me.
I’m always thinking about who I should be and who I want to be, rather than just being. I’d be lying if I said I’ve never wished to die. I don’t want to die literally, but I do wish I could just be someone else. Maybe not someone else entirely, but a version of me that isn’t currently me. I wish I could believe in my bones that it’s okay to be imperfect, that it’s okay to be just myself. I wish someone had told me and demonstrated to me throughout my childhood that it’s okay to not fulfill everyone’s expectations and not be so harshly punished for it. I just want the key that releases all these tormenting complexes I have inside of me. The balm that soothes and heals all the ruthless, unrelenting, and brutal self-criticisms, contradictions, and anxieties that shape how I show up in the world.
This also shapes the way I do things and carry things out in life. I often procrastinate on doing simple tasks because I’m fixated on how to mitigate the imperfection in how I get things done. I want to write, but not write the wrong thing the wrong way. I want to start a business, but not start the wrong thing the wrong way. I want to connect and be understood, but not with the wrong person the wrong way, having it lead to me being taken for granted, exploited, manipulated, or ridiculed.
The sharp blade on the Knife of Perfection always finds a way to be felt, whether I want to feel it or not.
Glitter in the Void 