I don't think anyone can say I do the things I love, half heartedly.

I was once told by my ever so controlling but ever so caring mother that when asked in an interview 'what is your main weakness?' That I was supposed to answer, 'I'm a perfectionist'. But after going for several jobs (and getting them) I realised how awful this answer really is. You may as well answer, 'I'm a clone with no interview personality'. My mother would tell me :'but you ARE  a perfectionist', but the truth is thats not what she was seeing.

From a young age its been all about praise. I would sneak into my mothers bedroom and make her bed for her before she finished her breakfast. Not for the great feeling of helping my mother out, but for that look of pride as she'd seen what I'd done. I lived for that look and when I didn't get it, it destroyed me. I talked in my last blog about criticism. I think what used to be my failing is not the criticism itself, but the lack of praise. And I think it is this that has driven me to wanting perfection. 

There is a feeling some people get when they want something really bad. I think its a mixture of drive, gusto and human instincts. I think I learnt to harness this as a child, I learnt that technique to enable me to get the praise I wanted. Now that im more mature, and alot older, I still get that feeling sometimes. I want to be the hottest slimmest girl in the room for my boyfriend, I want to be the best in my year, I want to be perfect at drawing..... and so it begins- that monster inside of me. The one that gets me out of bed at 6 in the rain to have the perfect body for a boy, the one that spends an entire summer doing nothing but drawing and the summer job to get more money for sketchpads and materials. The one that goes to bed at 5 in the morning from doing work all night and gets up at 9 am so that she can get that first in that module.

Its not a heathly attitude, but it will get me places I'm sure (with a little bit of balance).

Sometimes that monster is a pain. It has come across to others in the past as obsession, or depression. I think people don't understand why I get so passionate about certain things sometimes.  I can't answer that.

But a few awkward glances my way is worth not going through this life being mediocre.