I become obsessed with perfection when my anxiety spikes.
Filling every moment of my time with self-improvement tasks, as if I could compensate for my own shameful humanity through diligence. It’s a performance, with myself as the only audience. A dance of of wild precision – a single misstep will bring me crashing down.
It’s never enough.
Nothing I do is enough to push my fears away. No matter how many tasks I complete, how much I accomplish- it will never be enough. I will never be enough. If only I were stronger, smarter, faster, better- maybe I could finally outpace the frantic racing of my mind.
Bringing Mae Flowers 