I can't deal with being average. In anything.
I couldn't sleep last night.
I started trying to figure out why I'm such a perfectionist - which is something I've tried before, and made some progress at, but recent therapy sessions have pointed out some factors I hadn't considered before.
I started filling pages and pages of my tiny writing, scrawling out the things that made me what I am.
It's a time line, it started early on in my life, but it's so interconnected that it's no longer linear; the reasons overlap. The reasons reinforce each other. There is no changing it. I will always be this way.
It's so much a part of me, you might as well ask me to amputate a limb, as ask me to stop trying for perfection.
I cannot do it. I will not do it.
It is who I am.
And waiting for that letter is driving me mad...