perfectionism is killing me
and i've checked myself into treatment
The people we love to watch on television are the ones we can relate to; they belly-up show every side of themselves. Ariana Madix was my favorite cast member on Vanderpump Rules ever since she debuted as a bartender and the girl who Tom Sandoval made out with at the Golden Nugget (“That’s an all-time low,” IYKYK.). I immediately loved her because she was fearless in the way she expressed her emotions — she discussed her father’s death, openly shared her struggles with her sexuality, and most recently, handled her messy break-up with Tom Sandoval due to his infidelity.
It was devastating to watch the public demise of 10-year relationship, regardless of how we, as the audience, felt about that relationship. Her story resonated with so many of us. We can empathize with the feeling of loss and the head-to-head collision of your imagined future and reality. As this media frenzy unfolded, we rooted for her healing, whether that came with mistakes or disappointments or new experiences. Whatever got her to a happier, healthier place.
The irony is that I don’t offer the same compassion to myself that I give others, including reality stars. Logically, I know that all humans live life through trial and error. We are expected to experiment and stumble. Sometimes we’ll get lucky and catch all the green lights and other times, we’ll be caught in the rain without an umbrella. And it’s all not that serious.
All that said, I’m certain the impossible goal of perfectionism was implanted in me, Inception style. During my formative years, I developed a persistent voice that wasn’t mine, but a parrot of the adults around me. My subconscious took a sample set of experience data and presented a narrative of how the world receives me. One example of the experience data collected: I’d come home elated that I received an ‘A’ on a tough math test and instead of getting met with that same smile, I was asked why I got one question wrong. I didn’t know what to say. Then, I was interrogated to the point of tears and taunted for being a crybaby.
The narrative told me that perfectionism was the only way to receive love and praise.
No! No missteps! What will everyone else think? Like our neighbors? The parents of other kids in your grade? What about us? It doesn’t matter what you think because the only opinions that should matter are others. Put on that clown costume, we won’t accept anything less than a standing ovation. Standing ovation should come standard! Don’t complain, no one wants to hear that. Your existence isn’t enough to be celebrated, you fool.
To this day, if I’m feeling overwhelmed, I allot 10 minutes to cry and then verbally slap myself in the face to get it together. That external voice scolding me has been on autopilot. Truly, I could cry at anything but I’ve trained myself to keep those tears at bay unless necessary. The only acceptable crying situations are watching sad Korean movies (especially war related), cutting onions, and laughing uncontrollably when stoned.
But when I’m truthful with myself, I find an incredibly emotional and soft person who wants to be loved. The challenge for me is that the hurdle of opening up seems far too high for me to even step onto the track. It feels like I’m lighting my body on fire and inviting everyone to point and laugh, when in reality it should be the opposite. Opening up should feel like my heart reaching out to hold another’s and finding that it’s okay to stand on shaky ground when someone else helps you keep balance. Even just momentarily.
It’s realizing that I’m not so fucking special. I need to practice self-acceptance and create a safe support system, just like everyone else. I’m just like everyone else and that is beautiful and freeing.
things i’ve been into lately
Companion (Movie): My favorite horror/thriller movies are the ones that can tell a captivating story within 90 minutes. This movie does just that. If you want to watch the worst of humanity when AI is in the mix, you’ll enjoy.
Not drinking much in the summer, which is counterintuitive. But with this humidity and my antidepressants at max dosage, I refuse to add another unnecessary sweat factor (Narrator: She is going out for wine tonight).
The Wailing (Also a movie): I know, I know, it took me way too long to finally watch The Wailing but holy shit. This probably climbs to the top of my favorite horror movies of all time. The ride equally as insane as the ending and that’s how I like it.
This interview of Atsuko Okatsuka by Drew Afualo on her podcast, The Comment Section. I was literally howling in public. See below:
Deleting the LinkedIn app from my phone.
miscellaneous
First and most importantly, LFG ZADDY ZOHRAN! 📣
One of my core sexual awakenings was Vin Diesel in The Pacifier. Something about that bald, beefy man with a baby carrier strapped on did something to me at 12.
Listen, I know it’s deathly hot outside but to all the men out there: I should never see your butt cracks. Please.
Will purchasing flowers actually brighten up my apartment and spark joy? Or will I regret spending $15?
I recently realized that I hate trivia because I know nothing. :/
I hope y’all have had a wonderful Pride month and the bigots eat shit! Til next week :)
Vin diesel