April 11, 2016

For years I was controlled by the whip of Perfectionism. She kept constant watch, always making sure that I lived up to her impossible standards. No matter the circumstances, I was expected to display not just a hilarious wit, a dazzling intellect and a spotless apartment, but also a perfect figure to boot. If ever I slipped, showing even the slightest sign of needing help, emotional vulnerability, disorderliness or slackness in the maintenance of my body, she would instantly pounce, shaming me back into line. Her chastisement included a repertoire of predictable phrases such as, “swallow that feeling, get over it, clean that up, get your shit together, you don’t need their help or with the way you’re looking, you can’t afford to skip the gym today!” And because she had so thoroughly bewitched me into believing that she was the only way to get what I wanted in life, I faithfully did her biding. I kept my feelings on a short leash, I never...

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