Wait, what.

I start a vicious, idiotic circle jerk of pity. 

I start to wonder why I try to be good at anything at all, and so I don’t try at anything at all. I just lie in bed and try to sleep as much as possible in between eating a disgusting amount of pasta, because eating healthy is another part of trying to be good at something, so fuck it.

I start to make up excuses to not hang out with people by saying I need to stay in and do homework.

And then I stay in and don’t do homework. So I don’t go to class the next day, because I don’t like going to class unprepared. But then that night I have to do two nights of homework, and because that’s so overwhelming, I begin to wonder why I ever thought I could try again.

It was only last year or so that I finally began to recognize that these cycles stem from a crazy need for perfection that is unattainable, and a fear of unforeseen failure.

I’ve never started a paper with more than a day or two to finish it because at least then I know that it’s not my best and so I can’t be disappointed with the grade; I’ve never not crammed for a test; I can never maintain a healthy diet because if I eat one cookie, that means I’ve fucked up the entire thing and so I might as well just eat all of the cookies in the world, ever, and is this why the Keebler Elves have a restraining order out on me?

So I just fuck it all up on purpose, because at least then it’s controlled. Controlled failure.