I tried to lighten things up with yesterday’s post but I am still struggling. Just a lot of crying. Feeling so totally inadequate. Defective. Everyone else is living and going about their day and I struggle to even get up in the morning. For me, perfectionism isn’t about my house being clean or having things in order. It is an all consuming fear of failing. It is fear f having someone angry with me. As a very littl girl, maybe 3 or 4 I remember getting in trouble for coughing. Ice cold baths, the belt and being hung over bridges were some of the ways I was punished. If I did everything the way my biological father wanted, there was peace and calm. If anything was out of order there was punishment. A bed not made. Mud on a towel. Wetting the bed. Not eating everything on my plate. Punishments were quick and harsh. I was born into fear. No. I was born into terror. I have been to numerous counsellors, read books and group support. I can’t seem to not be afraid. I have no voice. My desire to please does come partly from a true desire to make things better for others. But part of that desire is based on fear of doing the wrong thing. The problem is, I am not really good at anything. I have never excelled at anything. Everything I do is just okay. Nothing is ever done really well. Wth that, I feel inadequate and try to please all the more. The pain runs so deep I really can’t put it into words. The pain is so deep that I often consider suicide as the only way out. (I won’t. I promise.) The pain is torment. I am inadequate. I am defective.
I am not sharing this to get attention. I am writing to get this out. Personally, I would like to turn off comments but I know that’s not fair.