I’m utterly exhausted. It’s as though I’ve sold my soul to this art project, and no matter how I feel I can’t stop working. I’d forgotten to finish my sketch for art class, so now I’ll suffer the consequences of little sleep. I’m forever destined to sit at the kitchen table, sketching and re-sketching. The stress of it all is starting to get to my head. My grip on my hair is worsening. I’m uncertain of how much more I can take. If it’s not perfect, then that means I’m not perfect. If there’s a singular flaw, then I’m flawed. The fact that I’ve already met the criteria for this assignment baffles me. How could I be done? It hasn’t met my own standards, yet I’m not sure it can. This is all beginning to seem like too much. Everything is just too much, working, decisions, conversations, eating, sleeping, and even every hair on my head. If I could just be rid of one more thing, maybe this idea of perfection would work out, and the stress would lessen. Gripping my hair turned into pulling. I put myself through a lot of pain; nevertheless, I kept pulling strands out. However, the pain of it all made me question whether perfection was worth it.

Back when my hair was long and I was small, I never sought perfection. However, due to the validation I craved, I was an overachiever. I constantly received compliments and good scores on assignments, but once I slipped up everything changed. I suddenly became aware of the expectations I’d been given for my success. Learning about the standards made me anxious, that anxiety stuck with me and has worsened over the years. When my anxiety spiked I’d subconsciously grab my hair or pick at my nails. Every mistake stuck with me and added to my internal spiral. Every critique got stuck in my head and repeated like a broken record. I realized that I only felt accomplished when I received a perfect score and I couldn’t take the stress of my current situation anymore. So I worked on every little task, assignment, or project until I thought it was as close to perfection as possible. I couldn’t see that working toward perfection would be a never-ending battle. My anxiety worsened as the pressure intensified; however, the fear of disappointment seemed much more terrifying than my stress.

Disappointment was something I couldn’t handle because that meant someone saw me the same way I felt about myself. Failing hurt more than anything, especially when someone was around to see my flaws. As long as I was perfect the only person I’d disappoint is myself. My internal voice was already too much for me so there was no way I could handle anyone else’s. Although I was putting myself through so much to achieve this vision of perfection, there was no way I would quit. I’d mess with my hair while I thought about the next assignment. I’d grip and grab at my hair during a project. I’d pull out strands of my hair one by one during a breakdown stressing about my schoolwork. I later realized I had created those expectations for myself, but I wasn’t sure how to stop. There was no chance that I’d tell anyone about what was going on, that would mean I’m not perfect right? So I kept trying and trying harder to prove myself to my internal voice. It got to the point where even a full score wasn’t enough, I needed to excel beyond anyone else’s expectations for myself.

I worked as much as I could. I secretly finished assignments from other hours in different classes. I would work while I ate, but eventually, I decided that eating took up too much time, and I skipped meals. I stayed up past midnight working on projects. I didn’t allow myself to rest until I was done. Only later did I realize the toll it was taking on my body. When I thought I felt fully rested everyone viewed me as exhausted and my parents reprimanded me for staying up too late on my phone. When brushing my hair, I noticed the small bald spots scattered around my head. The bald spots are what got me to allow myself to rest. I was finally paying attention to the consequences of my actions. I was suddenly able to see through the storm in my head, I remembered that I was just another person who needed the same rest as everyone else. I tried and I tried to handle it on my own, I was still terrified to show the flaws I desperately attempted to hide. The bald spots were only multiplying, and that was the final straw. I finally broke down that facade of perfection and allowed myself to get help.

It took me years to realize the price to achieve perfection was too high for me to pay. I joke that perfection is the thing that drove me insane, but that’s not too far off. I sacrificed my mental health to the metaphorical gods of perfection. I’m more open about my mental state to my friends and family so that no one pushes me too far. Also, I’m currently receiving care so that I can deal with my issues. If I didn’t speak up sooner, I might not be here today, and neither would my hair. By the way, I’m ecstatic that my hair has been growing back, especially since bald spots aren’t very fashionable. Anyway, I’m still a perfectionist, and not being the best I can be is very painful. However, I’m learning to listen to my body and I add breaks into my day where they’re necessary. I’ve learned that I need to do the best I can, but it’s far more important to avoid pushing myself too hard.