In every way, I'm perfect. Perfection is defined by me.
I cannot make mistakes. Mistakes terrify me. The world may implode
may I ever make a mistake. Of course I won't because I am Perfect. My sister
would always tell me so. Little Ms. Perfect, she would call me. I think she
was jealous, still is if you ask me.
If someone, ever points out that I could be mistaken, incomplete or short on details
I become very. very upset. Poised. But upset. My head silently blows into a million pieces.
My heart pounds out of every artery. I smile. I ask "really? " I blink quickly to pull back my tears
of anger. My thoughts of my shattered mind race. How is this possible, how could I have let this slip, why didn't I prepare. I feel the need to scream, go into a violent rage, instead I stand there staring blankly, with a stupid grin. Then I shut down.
Taking the the perceived criticism. I should have done it better. I failed. My perfection is flawed.
My frosting is cracked. My botox needs renewing. My polish is chipped. I have a cavity.