Easing up just a little on my perfectly imperfect soul.. ⏯️🛎

You ever have those aspects of yourself that you’re not entirely sure are a good thing? Well I do, at least. Lots of them actually. I’ve got this specific one that I wouldn’t consider the most obvious or detectable to those who know me but don’t get to spend enough time around me to be able to pick up the said trait. For someone closer, in this case my sister who’s also my roommate has grown accustomed to it and isn’t quite fond of it. In regards to it, it makes me the Debbie Downer sister, the most up tight, the less spontaneous, oh, and the worrier too… I wouldn’t really say that I hate this specific aspect of myself fully, it grounds me to an extent and anyways, I’m only regarding it now as a flaw on the occasional times when I wish it didn’t restrain me as immensely as it does… Okay okay, enough of the beating around the bush nonsense and I’ll get right to just saying exactly what it is this said aspect of myself is. I believe that in lay man’s language, what I’ve got going on is the character aspect of a perfectionist. I’m not 100% sure whether in most cases, one’s actions that may fall under the bracket of a perfectionist are excusable entirely and whether it eliminates one from some form of fault. This isn’t to mean that wrong actions are meant to be absolved just cause one couldn’t help their perfectionist nature… and now I’m getting derailed from what I initially meant to write in regard to this insistent need of mine to do everything by the book…back to focus.

Take for example, my last statement right there. It’s absolutely okay that I write whatever comes to mind and not feel like it’s some crime I’ve committed that requires some form of punishment from god knows who or what. I’ve said it to myself before that I wish I could make my writing absolutely spontaneous but despite trying to keep up with that notion, minutes before I was able to write all this down here, I couldn’t help myself but scribble down a few highlights on this exact topic in the fear that I’d screw it up if I left it to the fate of my mind to remember exactly what my line of thought was at the very beginning. Pardon me if I hardly sound like I’m making any sense. Technically, my incessant need to have everything in some prime and proper version of things does piss on my parade a lot more than I’d like to admit.

Do you know what’s most absurd about it to me in regard to this, it’s the crazy notion in my mind that’s convinced of some form of reprimand in the case that things aren’t done in the ‘rightful’ manner. My conscious mind believes that whatever action that’s to be undertaken, if slightly bent from its set out route of focus, there will be life changing repercussion…Maybe in some cases, there might stand the chance of the odds being in favour of things needing to be done exactly as they are supposed to be done but on the off chance that the world won’t end if I don’t do things all perfect, it makes it direly impossible to have spontaneity ever happen to me. I cannot begin to elaborate just how much of this aspect of myself is fully embedded in me. It’s in everything little thing I can think of that I do. From the way I talk, to the way I carry myself around in front of people, to the way I arrange my things in my wardrobe, to the way I write… It goes on and on. It’s even trickled down to a hobby that’s absolutely supposed to relax me and completely take the edge off which is what has led me to being here and writing it down. Colouring. Yes, you read that right. I recently started colouring and had been yearning to do it for a while now because I thought to myself, why not, seems like it would be quite fun and it would bring the carefree child in me out a little bit more, to reminisce on easier times in life through bringing colour to portraits & pictures. But guess what, even that had to get trampled over by my need to do things right… I was just colouring a while ago and I couldn’t help but feel upset that I wasn’t colouring one of the pictures in my colouring book exactly as the object usually is in reality. When I first started, I’d insist on checking exactly what colours a certain picture was so that I’d colour exactly in the same manner. Rather than embracing the spontaneity of creating my own art in colour, I was anxious that by some random chance, someone would pick up my colouring book and question me for not colouring respectively as it should be. The whole point of me colouring was never to seek out perfection but despite that, I can’t seem to shake off the idea that everything needs to fall exactly into its right place or in this case, its right colour.

Like I said, to some extent, I’ve grown accustomed to it because without a doubt, I’ve never been one to live on the edge of life. I’ve always played things safe, never to purposely or intentionally rock the boat. Being a perfectionist has helped somewhat calm my raging anxiety over things beyond my control though it is also technically built on the very said anxiety. I truly believe that if I was less of an anxious person, I’d be more relaxed, maybe Zen even. Maybe then, I’d care less about the fear of an absurd repercussion than trying to have everything fall into its proper place. I’m sadly a real major stickler for order and despite how much I’d wish to change that, I think it’s best to admit that it will take a whole lot to rid me of what can be now termed second nature to me. Gotta admit though, I wish my mind, soul and body would just go with the flow you know… Sore away with the wind, wherever it may take me without the fear of a possible anxiety attack. What can I say, it’d be nice to have my own nature try not wring the breath out of my neck in the face of a little imperfection.

P. s This here is a picture of my current remotely acceptable coloured picture, not sure whether it’s a smurf or a gnome but I wanna hope that it’s colours match those acceptable to the gods of perfectionism. 😌

..another P.S …So apparently, from Pinterest quotes, it’s not at all a good thing to be a perfectionist. It’s very flawed seemingly. I’m not here to justify it’s good or bad aspects, maybe just to reflect on its disadvantage a little, at least when it’s not being life threatening.

So a minute or so ago, I was thinking that maybe it would be a cool idea if everytime I wrote a post, I should probably tell y’all a random thing about myself. Not sure if it’ll reduce the mystery around me 😅, that’s if it’s at all existent…I could be very well flattering myself here but anyways. The said random fact that brought this idea to mind is that my favourite ice cream is plain vanilla. I understand that most people go crazy with their ice cream flavours & toppings but I’ve never really seen the appeal to having one too many flavours all meshed in my mouth. My taste buds wouldn’t like the confusion of it. I’ve actually always taken a secret pride in loving plain vanilla. It’ll probably sounds silly but the reason for my ice cream preference is cause I’ve always perceived myself as a simplistic person hence my reason for liking a singular type & taste of ice cream. I probably sound extremely corny & cliché saying that so I’m gonna stop there with my not so impressive personal facts about ice cream.. 😅I feel obligated to tell you my readers that I have been relatively in a balance for the last couple days which is a good thing, I think. This meaning that I’ve felt what I’d call a resemblance of normalcy which I haven’t had for over four months now. I take regard of this feeling of obligation cause this is the same platform where I’ve released every bit of my depression and pain out to the world. My actual world may not see it as clearly as I express it here, in my blog, therefore anyone who has ever taken their time to read & have a sense of concern over my mental health is deserving to know when my mind is striving to regain a sense of peace.Not to rain on my own parade but I am so conflicted on what to feel about my new found sense of normalcy… where my days aren’t racked by depression, self harm & possible suicide ideation. The sense of normalcy being, I may not be at the very perfect place in my mind but I can live through a day without having to wanna rip myself apart. I’m conflicted over whether to feel happy or scared shitless over the fact that I’m no longer fully immersed in my own little dark bubble which has been home for me for so long. In less complicated words, I don’t know if feeling better is a good thing or a bad thing. I at first thought that the reason I wasn’t acknowledging how different I was beginning to feel was because I didn’t want to jinx it but now I’m no longer sure if that’s a convincing reason. I’ve heard it before… That it’s not easy to accept recovery from a mental illness. Over my years in therapy, it’s been identified that I’m very attached to my pain & my depression. From the very act of owning & acknowledging it as my own. I’ve been told by therapist that I cradle my depression like I’d cradle a baby. I don’t want to believe that this could possibly be what I’m doing in this exact stage of the beginning of me recovering but it’s hard to deny that I’m scared to feel anything different from what I’ve been accustomed to. I honestly don’t know where my emotions lie right now when it comes to the changes I can feel happening.A part of me believes that the change in my mind is as a result of the three weeks I was on antidepressants. I wanna convince myself that they helped despite how hard & mentally exhausting it was for me to take them. I’m supposed to start on a different dosage of antidepressants & maybe I am just a tad bit too eager to get on them than I should want to be. I shouldn’t want to take them but a part of me feels that I need them. The twisted part of me that needs the chaos and the turmoil to feel like my usual ‘normal ‘ self… in pain.In conclusion, I think that I’ve probably rained and crushed on the initial parade I had of me being better.. I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed anyone. I wanna convince myself that this is just part of the recovery, the part which feels like a withdrawal of some sort. That the feeling & yearn to go back to the dark parts of my mind is just a minor setback.