Perfectionism

"Why, why, why?? Why can't you do this? Why can't you type perfectly? Everyone else can, so why can't you??"

I howl at the computer screen, willing my fingers to obey the commands my brain is sending them. They skitter nervously over the keys. My mind becoming a frantic blank, I guess randomly where 'u' might be and stab at one of the keys. I jump as my (incorrect) guess flashes up as a blazing crimson error on an otherwise perfectly typed dictation exercise. The errors produced from my fingers, which are now sweaty with nervousness, double, triple in quantity. My mother winces as I turn the air blue with curses and threats of how I am going to cut off my hands, yes, I'm talking to you two, and attach hands and fingers which actually OBEY my instructions to type correctly!!. (Scratch the "Pieces of My World", this journal should be renamed "Diary of an insane completely loopy madwoman".) When the typing casualty list progresses into double figures, that's it, I've had enough. Jaw clenched, snorting with all the vigour of a bull faced with matador and red flag, I jerk to my feet and flounce out of the room, declaring dramatically:

"It's offical: Mavis Beacon and OctoberPoppy ARE THROUGH! That's it! It's over! It's the culmination of a not-so-happy relationship and you know what? I'm filing for divorce. I'll teach you, Mavis Beacon! I'm going to take you for every penny- that's what you get for making OctoberPoppy feel inadequate!"

Now would be a good time to explain that I am an impossible perfectionist. It's my biggest personality flaw- when the perfectionist in me is unleashed, you don't want to be around. The normally jovial, happy-go-lucky OctoberPoppy is quickly transformed into an obsessive, nit-picky, insanely jealous, driven and determined (ie: dog-with-a-bone mentality), quivering mass of energy. I am insanely self critical and intolerant when I'm in one of these moods. With just that look on my face, people rapidly scarper to a five-mile radius. I'm being serious- that side of me, the side that's not content with anything less than straight As and near perfection, is not pretty. I fear for my future kids, I really do. I'm the type that will say to darling sprog or sprogette: "oh, wow! 95% in your science test! That's marvellous-" and then growl "-but why didn't you get 100%??!" God, I can see it already: the poor kid will be off at 100mph the instant they turn 16, eager to escape the clutches of the utter crackpot of a mother who made their childhood years such a misery.

I'd love to think I was liberal, tolerant and accepting, I really would. I'd love to think I wasn't a judgemental, unforgiving person, truly I would. But the truth is, I'm just not. Don't ask me why-nobody else in my family gives a toss about how "successful" I am, as long as I'm happy. My mum is one of the most liberal, sympathetic people I know (in comparison, I'm "Matilda's" Miss Trunchbull). As for being on my back academically...the fact that my mother hasn't been to a single parents evening since I was 11 and in Y7 rather says it all, really. No, I've just been lumbered with a rogue gene. It's me and my own bizarre temprament that has determined that it's just not acceptable to be anything less than "the best".

Do they offer counselling for people who had a perfectly happy, golden childhood, but have rogue perfectionist streaks?