when perfectionism killed me
when perfectionism killed me, i got depression to resurrect me. it got me lying down in my bed for days, only getting up to go pee, or eat. i cried every night, and i loathe every morning. the fact that the world did not shutter because i had a typo in an email, and that I did not die from a confusing article, kept me going.
if everything's perfect, then there's no such thing as perfect.