unwilling to be imperfect

I am unwilling to to be imperfect. I don't like it at all.

When all the balls do not stay in the air, when it doesn't run smoothly, it doesn't go to plan, when people criticise me and argue with me and disagree with me. 

I just want to be perfect, without flaws. Admirable. Awesome. Beyond extraordinary.

So I hold tight, play small and safe. I don't take risks, I don't allow myself to enjoy it. The most important thing is that I am perfect. 

Because when I make a mistake I feel small and dirty.

The spiral of filthy shame is so excoriating.  I beat myself with every tiny slip, and the tidal waves of cold shame wash over me again and again, even when the performance is finished.

Shame of imperfection tells me to never venture out again. Make yourself small. Don't try that again. You looked like an idiot. 

I play my mistakes over and over again in my head. I can't stop thinking about it. All the things I did wrong ring loudly in my head and my skin crawls and shivers and I feel cold and dead inside. Cold, dead and yet burning with embarrassment. 

I get relief from the shame when I am asleep, but from the moment I wake up the feeling and thoughts are back. It takes days to recover.

If I am not perfect, I shouldn't exist.