I like to think of myself as a perfectionist, in every aspect of my life. From the way, my hair lies on my head, to how my shoes line up in the shoe rack. The distance between my plants has to be equal, anything with a right angle has to line up perfectly, and all the food in my pantry has to have its labels facing forward so they’re readable. At some point, this perfectionism overflows into obsessiveness.
The thing is, I’m human, and I’m not perfect. And sometimes, no matter how hard I try, things just won’t be perfect. The problem arises when I start obsessing over the imperfections. With time I’ve learned to develop different ways around my issues. I avoid looking in mirrors as much as possible because otherwise I’ll get worked up if something is out of place. I prefer things to be asymmetrical because that way there’s less room for mistakes. I even prefer things in odd numbers, because even numbers would need perfect symmetry.
Getty Images/PhotoAlto Agency RF Collections/Zen Shui/Michele Constantini
All these little quirks and habits of mine don’t really affect anyone else. People might think it’s weird, or just laugh it off, but at the end of the day, no one else suffers from my obsession. Until I found myself in a long-term relationship. Suddenly there was someone else for me to obsess over, and not in a lovey-dovey cutesie way, but in a ‘why isn’t this like that’ kind of way.
Getty Images/DigitalVision/The Creative Drone