Perfection, OCD, and Addictions

SMR made a point in the comment section of yesterday’s entry.  First, she said that every day was a good day because Alan Rickman was alive.  That was very kind of her because Alan Rickman is not attractive to her.  She said it simply because she knows that I am totally gaga over him.  That’s what a good friend does for you!  The real point I want to focus on, though, is perfectionism.  She said she wasn’t aiming for it.  At my therapy session yesterday morning, I related a story to my therapist.

My middle nephew is considered the difficult child of the family.  He has a knack for knowing what buttons to push to make you flat-out angry in two seconds flat.  One day, he was focused on hitting me as much as possible.  I felt helpless and angry and guilty because I just wanted him to go away.  I left that day feeling very bad about myself.

The next time I saw my nephew, he wanted me to read him an I Spy book (the Halloween one).  I said sure, so he sat next to me, and off we went.  Now, when I used to read the I Spy books with his older sister, we would meticulously pore over each page until we found every hidden item we were supposed to find.  With my nephew, however, I wanted to make things as easy and fun as possible.  See, like me, he has a low frustration threshold.   He is a sensitive as well as a perfectionist.  I didn’t want to experience another full-bodied meltdown, so I made a snap decision.  Instead of poring over each page, painstakingly searching out each item, getting more and more frustrated as time ticked on, we would do our best for a few minutes.  Then, if we couldn’t find the item, say the fourth frog, I would turn to my nephew and say, “I’m done with this.  You?”  He would nod, and we would turn the page.  Or, after a minute or two, he would say, “Pass,” and we would turn the page.  Once in a while, I would say, “I’m bored.”  He would say, “Me, too,” and we would turn the page.

It was an odd sensation to be deliberately non-perfectionistic.  I play HOG, and I always have to find every object.  However, I didn’t want to enforce my nephew’s rigidity, so I had to relax my own.  Instead of him getting frustrated because he couldn’t find the fourth frog and then throwing the book across the room, he sat quietly for a half hour as we found all the objects we could and passed on the rest.

When I told my therapist this story, she commented that one of the reasons I’ve broken the depression fever is because I’ve given up on trying to be perfect.  I was struck by this because it was so true.  I have lived all my life trying to be the bestest goodest nicest girl I could ever be.  I tried desperately to be the daughter I thought I should be.  I tried to fit in, but I never quite made it.  I was never happy with what I’d accomplished nor who I was.  If I got an A- on a test, it should have been an A.  If I got an A, but I didn’t score a hundred, it wasn’t good enough.  Hell, even the time I got an A+ in a deviant psych class (in college.  Or was it developmental psych?  I always get the two mixed up, but I think it’s the latter), I downplayed it because the prof really liked me.  It was the same the time I got 100 on a neuropsych test.  My prof told the class it’s the only time she’s ever given a 100.  I thought I had messed up one question, so I concluded that she was just being generous because she, too, liked me.

It’s a neat little trap.  I aspired to be perfect, but even when I attained perfection, it wasn’t enough because I kept rationalizing the perfection away.

One thing that helped nudged me past this need for perfection was the fact that I started blogging.  As my dear readers know, I try to blog every night.  Now, a standard entry from me is roughly 1,000 words.  It usually takes me an hour to write an entry.  If I got hung up on every word and every phrase, I could easily double or triple that amount of time.  I decided early on that my blog entries were going to be more stream-of-conscious writing than anything else.  I have all these ideas and thoughts marinating in my brain.  Blogging is best for me when I just unleash the hounds and let them run wild.

In addition, I have learned from painful experience that if I try to be perfect, I don’t get anything done.  It’s a great way to delay actually finishing a project, and it’s a good way to feel perpetually inadequate.  If nothing is ever good enough, then why bother even trying?  There is a built-in excuse not to do anything for fear of failing.

So.  I’m going against my instincts and trying to let go of my ideal of being perfect.  Like Stuart Smalley, I’m good enough, damn it, and people like me.

Next up:  OCD.  I don’t have the actual disorder (and yes, it should be CDO to be consistent with the actual disorder), but I have many of the symptoms.  I have to check that the door is locked at least twice.  I have to keep things balanced between the right side of my body and the left side.  I don’t like to feel lopsided.  I tend to do the same things every day at the exact same times.  I obsessively chew over worries in my mind.  My brain never stops–not even when I’m sleeping.  This is probably why I can’t sleep very well.

The weirdest tick I have is that when I catch a clock on the hour, the quarter hour, the half hour, or the quarter of hour, I have to count to 25 as quickly as I can.  If the number changes before I can finish, I don’t feel right.  I have no idea how this particular compulsion started, but I would surely like it to leave me the fuck alone.

If I like a certain song (The Storys, Journey’s End, for example), I will listen to it over and over again.  My friend, Rubo, turned me onto the Storys last week, and I have listened to the two versions of this song on YouTube at least a hundred times since.  I bought the self-titled CD, which is fabulous, and I just bought one of their newer CD pack.

When I bought the Rent soundtrack with the original Broadway cast, it was the only disc I played for a solid month.  When I fixate on something, I get obsessive (and compulsive) about it.

Ok.  I’m tired and this is running long, as usual, so I’ll tackle addictions at a later date.