Why does uncertainty seem so terrifying? I can’t think of the future without an oppressive feeling of dread. Life is filled with so many surprises and unexpected turns. I need to be able to trace the exact course of my existence. The thought of not knowing what is going to happen is too unbearable.
A few years ago I made a vow with myself to take my own life at some point or another. For me it’s like looking into a crystal ball and being able to see what the future holds. I know the ending to my story before it’s happened. Thinking about it gives me a sense of mastery over my existence.
To most people it’ll seem like a lame and pathetic ambition. The act of ending your life so that you can be in control of your destiny is a very selfish, heartless thing to do. But as someone with OCPD, I think it’s rational. To me it makes perfect sense. I wouldn’t take my life on an impulse to end my pain or seek revenge on anyone –though I must admit I have been tempted to. No, my life’s ultimate pursuit is to be in control. By being able to end my life whenever I so choose, I feel as though I can achieve that goal. We’re all mere mortals and we’re all going to die anyway. Barring any life-taking accidents or sudden illnesses, I’d like to decide when I die and how I die.
Whenever I’m ready to go, I want to be able to just go. Dying fulfilled means dying knowing that I was able to control my destiny.
In Control of My Destiny July 28, 2008
Perfectionism Is A Disease July 27, 2008
My perfectionism seems to work three ways:
- I set unreasonably high standards for myself.
- I set unreasonably high standards for other people.
- I believe others have extremely high standards for me.
Hence I am constantly judging myself, judging others, and thinking about how others are judging me.
Nothing I do is ever good enough. Nothing a significant other does is ever good enough. Because I am an exacting and unforgiving judge, we’re doomed from the start. No matter how hard we tried, we could never achieve the unrealistic standards of perfection that I demand.
When you’re so used to judging yourself and others so stringently, you become convinced that this is the way the world operates. In my mind others are just as demanding as I am, and I feel considerable pressure from them to surpass their expectations. They’re watching me, evaluating me and expecting the world of me. I fear they will lose respect for me if I fail them, so I push myself relentlessly to avoid humiliation and gain their approval.
But often the pressure from both within and outside gets to be so overwhelming that I feel as if I can’t keep on going. I’m easily burned out. Easily disappointed. Being a perfectionist takes a toll on you. So many failures, yet so few successes, if any. Each failure is a massive blow to the self-esteem, bringing you closer to hopelessness and despair. You work hard, but you achieve nothing. You’re just madly going around in circles in a pointless and miserable process.
Perfectionism is a vicious disease. It eats you. Poisons you. Confines you. Defeats you. I can’t tell you how badly I want to break free. Every second of my existence I can see it working in action, preventing me from achieving my true potential, alienating me from the people I love, draining the energy out of me and destroying my will to continue living in this world.
Whenever I take actions to curb the disease, it’s there, laughing in my face as it screams “I am you! You can never get past me! Whatever you do, it will be MY doing!” Whenever I try to do the right thing, it always turns out to be the wrong thing. I can’t seem to be able to run away from perfectionism. Whatever I do –every word I utter, every action I take, every thought I have– seems to fueled by the disease.
So I’ve decided to go back to therapy. Now that I have a real job with health insurance, I have no excuse. I want to get better. I want to fight this sickness. And at this point I really see no other way.
Always Too Much July 14, 2008
Boy have I seriously neglected this blog.
It’d take too long to explain where I’ve been or what I’ve done since May 3. Other than having a real job with benefits and a busy social calendar, my life actually isn’t all that different from what it was two months ago. I’m still obsessive. Still lonely. Still unhappy. And yes, I’m still good at whining.
After being rejected by a man I was obsessively pining for, I took up organizing meet^ups (local social networking events) as a hobby. It became a sort of outlet for my obsessive-compulsive tendencies, a way to channel my overzealous energies into something productive.
Naturally instead of deriving pleasure from the experience as other organizers do, I’ve obsessed over the whole thing a bit much, bringing upon myself more stress than is necessary. I know I’m the only one to blame for that. I’ve always had a knack for making things more difficult than they really are. I always want too much, do too much, push too much, worry too much.
Only a month into it and I’m already reaching the burnout stage. I’m sick of organizing meet^ups. It’s gotten to be too much. Unless I calm the fuck down and take it EASY, I doubt I could keep it going much longer. Sadly that goes for everything in my life. Work, relationships, blogging, trifles… You name it I obsess over it.
Unless I learn to chill out and stop taking everything so seriously, unless I learn not to make a MONUMENTAL deal out of everything, unless I learn to accept anything less than perfect, unless I learn to give myself a pat on the back for the good that I do and forgive myself for the not so good I do, unless I learn to loosen the grasp on every aspect of my life I am so fiercely adamant on exercising control over, then happiness will continue eluding me.
