By Jora Zaidi
OCD. Three simple letters, one easy acronym, yet one painful life.
Cheekily, my mom enjoys to tease and refer to it as, OCDC, which is her fun play on the rock band AC/DC. Even the mere simplicity in the change of lettering makes me cringe ever-so slightly; I feel my chest begin to tighten with anxiety. Although I dutifully correct her each time like clockwork, I find myself sincerely bothered by her harmless pun.
Just now, I repetitively edited what I had written until I found it to be worded perfectly. If it is not what I consider or even deem as perfect, I am not satisfied; I will never be satisfied.
Quite frankly, I feel inadequate. Even more so, I feel like a failure.
However, as I openly write how I feel, I reflect on my striving for perfectionism and knowingly realize I will fail each time to obtain the unattainable. No one is perfect. No one will ever be perfect, including myself, which is a devastatingly hard pill to swallow, since I struggle internally with the notion that it can be achieved; a skewed idealization.
As I continually battle to strive for perfectionism, in a cyclical war, I am aware that it is a fight that cannot be won, and an idea I do not fight alone - we all strive to become and obtain more without acknowledging the mere fact that we are sufficient and worthy enough as it is. More so, it is these fixations and hindrances that make us human, and spite of our flaws, we are so worth loving.