It's called "tension," a gift and a curse. It is energy, this tension, fueling adrenaline through the body, forcing laziness and sleepiness far away. The winding contains the spirit against falling, keeps it upright. As a perfectionist the tension gives the energy for this constant, non-stop evaluation, not of myself against others (pride does that often enough, anyway, far too often), but of what I have done against what I could do. I am my own worst critic, for I do not critic how well it is done, but what it could have been, and that measurement is too often harsh. Tension fuels it, the band increasing in tension around the heart whenever I find the evaluation scoring too low.
There are things that crack it and things that shatter it, two opposite things. Criticism and failure can shatter the tension, when it has been wound too tight, causing a breakdown (often tears of frustration, curled up on the floor of my room). But what cracks it, loosens the bonds, is praise.
I felt it yesterday, working at the counter for customer service, wound too tight (I had made several mistakes earlier that day, when I was covering Lorien's shift up front; most often I am behind the counter, not the cash register, and my memory had failed a few times, worse, during the busy times, for I had been rushed and had caused a backup of customer's with my mistakes...now I was behind the counter for my shift, and doing better, but the tension still lingered, enhanced by the rushed schedule of the entire day, for my paper was due that night, the paper worth 60 percent of my grade). A lady came up, and thanked me for being so cheerful, for smiling, for taking extra effort. I looked down and thanked her, but inside I felt the bands crack, loosening their hold. When I am told I have done well unexpectedly, when I'm given extra praise from someone I don't expect, the tension weakens, unwinds a bit, and there is release, for the tension gives energy but constrains happiness and enjoyment of life.
A task done, too, releases tension, but it unwinds completely, and I just want to cry for the energy and support are gone. My paper was finished at 11:37 last night (I was up till midnight the night before, as well); my entire life this past week has thrown off my sleeping schedule, for this paper haunted every hour, and the closer it got to the due date (with so little done) the more the tension increased. Now it's done and, while outwardly calm (except when alone, where God grants me the ability to cry), a debate is attacking each side within me.
I will be doing this once a month; two weeks of (relative only) ease, one week where it's harder, taking on extra work to try to make the fourth week easier, and the fourth week where I wind the tension so tight, where I make this band so hard and stiff and regimented, to refuse any attempts at escape (other than breaks to "watch" [often just listening to] Rurouni Kenshin or Numb3rs or Thumbelina or Tangled or High School Musical [one]...yes, I have random taste in movies :). I've talked with a friend about how tightly I'm wound, and she told me honestly that she's surprised I haven't had a nervous breakdown yet. I watch for that, attempting to take steps to release tension (I'll probably go play with legos this afternoon, or superglue the wings back onto my dragon, building and repairing are lovely releases), attempting to be healthy, but I can't help but wonder: what am I doing? Should I be going through something that takes so much once a month (one week in four is a pretty big time chunk, especially when the others are only relatively easy). But then, I've only done this 4th week twice; surely it will get better with practice? But niggling in the back of my mind is the thought that usually if I am thinking about quitting, it's past time to quit. I wondered if I should go home sick; I walk into the office and my boss tells me to go home (kindly and compassionately) before I get three words out; I think I should perhaps go to bed and a chorus from my friends rings out of relief and agreement; they knew it long ago. But I'm not seriously thinking about quitting; I'm only wondering if I should. And I'm splitting hairs in the process of doing so, most likely because I'm thinking about it while I'm exhausted. I need to start praying for direction--for while I could do this (and do it well, pleasing to a perfect God and a perfectionist person [two very different things], and in a healthy manner) with God's help, I cannot do it at all without Him, and I need to know what He wishes me to do.
One more thought on perfectionism, to end this very long post. I watched clips of The Last Samurai for my paper, and heard this: "I continue to live among this unusual people. I am their captive and [...] Everyone is polite. Everyone smiles and bows, but beneath their courtesy I detect a deep reservoir of feeling. They are an intriguing people. From the moment they wake, they devote themselves to the perfection of whatever they pursue. [A man polishes a sword, a boy shoots a bow with care, patience, and deep intent attention.] I have never seen such discipline. I am surprised to learn that the word Samaria means 'to serve'" Their perfectionism had no tension, only passion, for they did not limit the time they spent to it. It was a lifelong devotion, not a task; it was something to love as well as something to seek perfection in. Their pursuit is patient as well as determined. Just something to think about--and to contrast to my own pursuit, where I would love to have perfection now, and I do not love the journey there.
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