Perfectionism

Perfectionist: A propensity for being displeased with anything that is not perfect or does not meet extremely high standards.

That definition describes me to the T. I strive to be perfect in everything I do. I make the perfect grades. I'm pressure myself to make the perfect grades to the point where I am on the brink of a nervous breakdown. I really wish I was kidding. I am entering into my junior year in college and I have a 3.93 GPA. It's gotten to the point where my mom asks me to make a C just so I won't feel like I have to be perfect.

I have the perfect relationship, or I try to have the perfect relationship with Kyle. Sometimes I just feel like something isn't there. My friend Katie and I were talking about long term relationships. We both have been dating the same guys for quite some time now and you come to a point where it hits you, you will no longer have a passionate, yet awkward first kiss. There will be a point where that person just won't give you the butterflies anymore. So much of the excitement is gone because now, you just know that person. I know what makes Kyle tick, I know what turns him on, I know his smiles, his smell, and his thoughts. Its easy to miss the newness. And missing that newness makes it so easy for my eyes to wander. Realizing this, and thinking that I could potentially cause great pain to a wonderful man in my life breaks my heart. I hate feeling like this.

But the things that I stress about the most. That I push myself about the most is my body. I hate the way I look in a mirror. In high school a girlfriend and I jumped on the scales just to be fun and I was shocked to see that she weighed more than I did. Shocked isn't even the word, more like mortified, embarrassed. I knew right then that this had to stop. I stopped eating fast food, I stopped eating chocolate, I stopped eating, period. I loved the feeling of being hungry because then I knew I was losing weight. I would workout to the point where I felt dizzy just so that I would be certain I would be sore the next day. If I was sore I knew it was beneficial. So I worked and worked and I lost twenty pounds putting me at 103. But I still wasn't satisfied, I wanted my waist to be thinner, my stomach flatter, but my body couldn't take it anymore. I stayed at this weight for a year and then I left for college and was put on anxiety medicine which made me blow up. Not huge, but to me I'm am so uncomfortable that it is sometimes hard to concentrate. I plan my meals out way ahead of time just to make sure I'm not consuming too many calories. If I don't go to the gym I feel completely guilty and I obsess about my laziness.

I am so afraid that this is something I am going to have to deal with for the rest of my life. I have even thought ahead, planned that I don't want to have kids because I don't want to worry about having to lose baby weight. I dread the future, and I dread looking in the mirror. I'm sick of trying to be perfect.