Perfection.

I remember a time in my life when everything revolved around me being the best, being perfect. I would compete in school so that I could make the top two. My grades were essential to me being a worthwhile person and if I couldn't do well in school, I wouldn't do well in anything. I tried so hard to be the best musician I could be. I practiced singing frequently and competed for the best solos in concerts. I needed to excel, I needed to be recognized, I needed people to know that I was the best. I was a snob about it, but it was my life. If I couldn't get a note right, I almost started crying. If I got a low grade on a text, I would blush and be completely embarrassed. It was almost humiliating that I wasn't the best. My senior year, I was salutatorian, I made regionals and all-state, I conducted the middle school choir on a couple of songs, I sang the National Anthem at my graduation, and I got into UConn on a full scholarship as a music major.

The first year of college was brutal. I isolated myself, practicing and doing homework and getting an excellent GPA. But I didn't get a 4.0 and I felt like a failure.

If I could control my body and be skinny and have people recognize that I was losing weight and looked great, it could make up for the fact that I wasn't the smartest or the most talented person. College was a wake-up call that people were better at me than things. It was heartbreaking. I had lost my grandmother, my mother had moved away, and now I was just average. Something had to change.

I still want to be the best, but I realize I'm not perfect. I have a 3.417 and that's good enough for me now. I'm in the honors program. I'm not a music major anymore, but I love what I'm doing. My body isn't perfect, but I am beautiful. I am the epitome of perfection just as I am.