Obsession with Perfection

53%. A buildified F. A failure. The exact turn intimately of perfection. I analyse the last hebdomad of summer vacation to be prompt for my AP World annals turn out and I still got a 53%. I worked so threatening and yet I matt-up that I accomplished nonhing. The F that stared abide at me screamed imperfection. And what did I turf out to myself? I am anything scarcely AP material. I am a failure. I am non perfect, and thats all I expected to be. I am not used to failing. Everything unremarkably comes easy to me; algebraic equations, how ATP in glucose molecules converts into energy for an organism, and collar the symbolic alliance between Huckleberry Finn and his acquaintanceship Jim. How could I keep up fai guide the first screen out of the school socio-economic rank? I could not grasp that it was practicable for something that I had worked so hard on led me to disap tear warement. A month later, I learned on a Friday that I had a immense unit trial on Tuesd ay. I freaked out! How was I supposed to diddle 5 jillion years of compassionate history in three age? What would hap if I failed this test oer again? Or yet, what would happen if I did worsened than my awful 53%? That week final stage, I locked myself in my sleeping room, doing anything to memorize what countries porcine ske allowons have been set in motion in, to the accomplishments of the Neolithic Age. I read power-points, took online quizzes, make flashcards, read through notes, and repeated this over and over again. My point of breaking push down had been reached, but I would not permit myself quit perusal. I needed that A. Monday night finally came and most all my want was g unrivalled for perchance passing on Tuesday because my anxiety unplowed bringing me down.Tuesday arrived anyways, whether I wanted it to or not. Dreading history, I stumbled into word form and un get outingly took my test. liveliness iffy about the outcome, I position the test down on the teachers desk. after discussing it with my friends, they said they matte anxious and worried, and like me. I wished I felt as if I got an A; I wished all of that studying paid off. A week later, my test was handed back to me and it was solid C. crack than previously, but yet, it was not perfection. Disappointed I shoved the paper into my bag. Then, I checked my overall grade in the class to descry how much it dropped. I was surprised and especially relieved; I had a B. not seeing a C anywhere, I was glad, even ecstatic. not one person in the class maintained an A. Since I was so think on my failures, I forgot that I had the electric potential to pass and halt a B, violate than I ideal I could do in the class. My overall grade was not a failure, but rather, above average. I realized I derrierenot get a perfect A in all(prenominal) class, that I am not amazing at introduction history, and that I ripe have to let some things go. Failures led me to be softheaded wi th perfection-itis, but I learned how to cure it; letting small-scale set-backs not chink me back and realizing there is no one in this military personnel that is perfect. Accepting my flaws coiffure an end to my fixation with perfection. My history tests will not cook me captive to my bedroom desk for any more(prenominal) weekends. History class has taught me more than the chastise of Rome, but how the deterioration of my anxiety can lead to the end of my obsession with perfection.If you want to get a full essay, separate it on our website:

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