A Logical Perfectionist

By Aaminah Husnaa

I think that I am a logical person.

Academically, I am the strongest at maths and the sciences. There is one answer; you are either right or wrong.

When I was younger I would make my mum and dad gifts, usually out of paper. Origami is straightforward, just complete each step until the goal is met.

I love baking but I'm not as talented at cooking. 

The phrase must be true “baking is a science but cooking is an art.”

My mum says I am intelligent and hardworking.

My teachers say I am gifted and a pleasure to teach.

My dad says I am resilient and can do anything.

My sister says I am a perfectionist.

I shake my head.

Nothing I have done has been perfect.

My maths and science exams are rarely perfect, they say i have exceeded their expectations but they must be far too low because i could have done better.

The gifts I made did not mirror the tutorial and my handwritten messages that they came with weren’t centred. The presents made them smile but if it was perfect they would have smiled more.

The whipped cream coating my sister's birthday cake was not smooth, the layers of cake were not as even as they should have been. She said thank you but I think she was just being kind.

A perfectionist should be perfect but I am not. 

I am a logical person.

If I consume more energy than I burn then I will gain weight.

If I burn more energy than I consume then I will lose weight.

I set a limit for myself and I know I cannot exceed it. I plan my days in advance to ensure that I stay within my allowance and soon enough I see the results. 

Numbers are dropping; sizes, inches, stones. 

I remember something an English teacher once said “I have never needed to use maths in my day to day life.” At the time I understood however now I know that his words were not applicable to me and it seems as though they never will be. 

What grows, however, is the concern of the people around me. From my parents and friends to my teachers and doctors, every anxious question fuels the glowing pride encased within my mind; like the heart beating against my lungs. 

A part of me fears that this pride may grow stronger than my lungs and that -one day- there will be no room left for me to breathe.

I use the calculator on my phone more than I do instagram or tiktok. The values of foods are constantly floating around in my head; I fear they may be taking up too much space as I struggle to remember anything anymore and I often feel absent from my surroundings. My contributions to conversations lack depth and I feel my personality fading. It’s dragging the people I love and care for with it.

Regardless, I see the results in-front of me and it is evident that my logical nature has not failed me.

I am not a perfectionist.

As the years have passed I struggle to stay within my limit.  Some days are worse than others but I live in a constant fear of the numbers rising; building themselves back up stronger than ever before.

I lack energy and strength. If the wind is particularly strong or I find myself caught in a busy corridor I feel as though I may finally crumble; along with the parts of me which have not yet slipped through the cracks of this illness.

At some point along the way my pride became my priority and I have found myself going to any length to add to it, or to maintain it at the very least. It thrives off of the same gains and losses as it did when I began this venture. 

I simply hope that one day it does not burn too bright.