I've always known there was something wrong with the way I reacted to not being perfect, but yesterday was the last straw. I was outlining a doodle in my journal with a marker when my hand slipped.

I completely lost it. My throat went dry and I started sobbing. I had no reason for feeling and reacting the way I did, but I felt devastated.

My journal is a mess anyways because I've torn out so many pages. My handwriting is either never good enough or my sentences need to be revised. I only write to-do lists in it now because I gave up on my talent for writing long ago. It caused me so much stress to constantly see edits, but to never make progress in continuing my plot lines.

This is so extreme, and I am so ashamed of this part of myself. I don't even know what I hope to accomplish by posting this. I guess I just needed to finally admit that I'm not okay.