This one's for you and me.
Throughout all this, I keep telling myself that I don't really know pain. I'm not "sick enough" for anxiety or depression meds; I'm not technically diagnosed with codependency; I haven't even begun to tell anyone about the depths of my OCD, so naturally, I can't be diagnosed with that, either (for those of you who are wondering - I am beating the whole OCD thing, praise the LORD! The reason I don't talk about it is because I don't feel the need to - I'm getting over it on my own, with God's help).
But the one thing I cling to is the fact that I am a perfectionist. I might not be anxious, I might not be depressed, I might not be codependent, and I might not have OCD, but I still have some claim to hardship because I am a perfectionist.
I might be making up most of the pain, but the perfectionism thing is real. It isn't made up. It's my one claim to pain.
Or so I thought.