The Imperfect Perfectionist

The school term begins in a matter of days, and I guess this wouldn't be the realistic diary of a schoolgirl unless I actually mention how I feel about it. Whereas I spent my primary days hating school, for the past few years that I've found both friends and myself, I've loved school. Don't get me wrong, on days when you're behind on three essays (that day was horrific) the temptation to "be ill" is overwhelming - though I take it in my stride that I'm renown for never missing school or being ill, and if I am, others usually think I'm dead or kidnapped.

Anyway, my AS Levels went...well, really well. It was probably one of the most unexpected moments of my life, and sadly, brief. Unfortunately, unlike opening results in private amongst family who will congratulate me, I opened them, exultant, only to look up to see frowns and tears around me. I've noticed for a while that I have this irritating tendency to beat myself up over the smallest things, especially over the fact that I'm happy and others aren't. I could probably elaborate on how deep down I don't think I deserve to be happy, but I like to think that it's because I care. Sadly, on such a self-centred day as results day, it's not a good thing.

One of the worst things was finding my friends in hopes of celebrating with them, and then finding out that's not going to happen. All of a sudden, I felt awful, because I felt like simply telling them what I got was boasting and arrogant. I started to hate them asking after a while, because I just had to see those looks on their faces over and over. It also made me want to switch with them, want them to be happy instead of me, and try and make myself feel bad about my grades so I could, I suppose, fit in.

I'd never felt so confused over an issue. As if I couldn't want for myself. On one level, I looked at my grades and realised that I worked really hard for them and deserved them, and on another I remembered all the relaxing I did and all the cookie breaks, telling me that I didn't work hard.

You got lucky, that's a low A, so it's technically a B and it was a fluke or a generous examiner. Simply thinking all of that made me hate myself more, because how dare I beat myself up over something like that, I'm so horrible to myself.

I told my friend all of this and she said she wanted to punch me. I wish I could punch myself so I could snap out of it, but the idea that I made them feel even worse by being dissatisfied with my grades made it unbearable.

I'm convinced that this perfectionist complex is due to my writing. I apologise for the rant, but all I can say is that I want to walk into school next week with my head high, proud that I worked hard all year. If I'm honest, it won't be that easy, and guaranteed I will feel bad about achieving at least three times that day.

I just can't win.

The End

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