I have always been a perfectionist; it’s a trait that’s followed me for as long as I can remember. I constantly strived for the highest grades, the nicest clothes, and the most friends. Perfection was a part of me that I understood and could handle, but when I reached high school, I lost all control. At that point, it didn’t just describe me, it defined me. When I entered ninth grade as the ambitious, young freshmen I was, I had no idea what was coming. I expected straight A’s in all of my classes and perfect scores on every assignment. I was determined to start off on the right foot. What I didn’t know was that first step would send me on a path of self-destruction. I would study every day for hours on end. At my worst, I was spending eight
