Imperfection. That word never existed for me. I had to be the one who over-achieved, got the highest score, dressed the best, was always the first. I’d almost kill myself just to reach a goal. Then when I got it, it meant nothing to me and I was on to the next. Imperfection meant failure. That I’d lost control. And control was something I yearned for. Meant you weren’t good enough if you weren’t perfect. Looking back, I wished someone told me that there was beauty and understanding in imperfection. Asymmetry. That it was perfectly normal to not be perfect. And that I was just chasing my own tail, became a hamster in a cage in a plastic wheel trying to attain something that could never be. @flossyssuitcase
