To The Valedictorian,
who grapples with the constant fear that her rank will drop from her coveted, cursed position of number 1—that golden number that seems to outshine anything else in her life as she desperately tries to see past its brash luster—who loses a sliver of her childish, playful heart every day she spends in that institution, whether easily getting those perfect grades one day or fighting tooth and nail the next, who is teetering on the edge of seeing her illuminated future so close, seeing herself among the group of researchers plastered on the college poster, both parties so ambitious and motivated, yet slipping away as she’s swamped in more work in an effort to maintain a single 3-4 digit number-
who texts her friends, if they’re really friends, because do they really hang out with her anymore, and no, passing glances and short greetings in the hallway don’t count:
“Hey, sorry I can’t make it. I’ve got a ton of work.”
who includes a sad-face emoji at the end of the apology to add a touch of personality, a hint of emotion, just to reassure her friends that she’s still there. She hasn’t become a robot, no, she’s just tired and stressed, because the more sleep she loses, the less energy she puts into her actions, the less personality she shows, and really, was her personality tied to her bubbliness all along.
who is still sullen from making a crucial mistake and jeopardizing the biology lab that happened that afternoon, like how could she make such a careless error, biology is her favorite subject, what is happening to her, she’s losing control, not being able to do anything correctly,
who had to craft a lie to her teacher for submitting a work a few minutes past 9 p.m. because she was busy, was immersed in making another assignment as well completed as possible,
As perfect as possible,
Because she’s a “perfectionist,” the cursed compliment that teachers give to students,
who tries to shake off this label, but it won’t come off. It’s been superglued, welded, hammered into her brain, nested between the networks of her neurons as she tries to survive day after day.
And this frustration is understandable, valedictorian.  Surprisingly, an ear has been offered to listen to your problems, your feelings of losing control of your already controlled, monitored life.
It’s going to be okay. The reassurance for you and the reassurance for the student with the lowest GPA match, word for word. You both are not that different. It’s going to be okay in the end. You may not see the light, but it’s there, patiently waiting for you. Go at your own, comfortable pace.
Your stress originates from homework, from school, from pressure to perform well. Whether this pressure comes from outside sources, such as your overbearing parents, or from within, your perfectionist self, know that you don’t have to hold yourself to a standard that you’re not happy with. Not even the standard that the perfectionist inside you is holding up, impatiently tapping its foot as it waits for you to reach the impossible.
And to you, anxiety, the shadow looming over the poor valedictorian, the perfectionist within her. You do not control her. She has the power to override you, to even erase you. Heed this warning.
Love,
Yourself