Emotional Butterfly

t w e n t y e i g h t

Insufficient-

You ever feel like you’re in a never-ending race against yourself? Yeah, that's me, Vinny, constantly sprinting against this version of myself that exists in my head. You know the one—the perfect Vinny who never stumbles, never forgets anything, and always, always gets straight A's. It’s exhausting, let me tell you. And to be honest, I think she cheats sometimes.

I mean, who set these ridiculous expectations anyway? Oh, right, it was me. Somewhere along the way, I decided that if I wasn’t the best at everything, I’d be a total failure. Like if I didn't ace that math test, I’d be out on the streets, panhandling with a cardboard sign that reads: 'Couldn’t solve for X. Please help.' But in all seriousness, there’s this pressure, this ridiculous, soul-crushing pressure to make sure my parents can proudly brag about me at every family gathering. I’m pretty sure they’ve got their speech prepared: 'Oh, Vinny? She’s perfect. Never a mistake, always at the top of her class. You know, we’ve considered getting her cloned.' No pressure, right?

'Well, that could’ve gone better.' But then, I can’t help but think, if I was truly the best, would I even be on this tightrope? Maybe I’d be in the audience, watching someone else sweat it out, while I enjoy some popcorn. Ah, the dream!

Now, let's talk about those moments when I don’t quite hit the mark—when I get a B instead of an A, or I forget to do something I was supposed to do. Those are the times when I morph into this strange creature—part detective, part philosopher, trying to figure out what went wrong and why I’m now a disappointment to the entire universe. 'Did I miss a comma? Should I have studied more? Should I quit school and join the circus because obviously, I’m not cut out for this?'

And then there’s the guilt. Oh, the sweet, sweet guilt. It’s like this little gremlin that sits on my shoulder, whispering, 'You could’ve done better. You should’ve done better. What, you think B’s are acceptable now? Who are you?' And I’m like, 'Seriously, dude? Couldn’t you take a day off?' But no, the gremlin never takes a vacation.

I try to brush it off, to laugh at myself and move on, but then I imagine my parents’ faces when they see that grade.

I mean, let’s be real: my parents aren’t that harsh. They’re great, supportive, wonderful people. But my brain? Oh, my brain is an entirely different beast. It’s like that annoying kid in school who always reminds the teacher about the homework you forgot to do. 'Remember when you didn’t study for that test? Yeah, neither will your GPA.'

But here’s the thing—I know it’s impossible to be perfect. I know that. Yet, somehow, I’ve convinced myself that if I’m not perfect, I’m just another failure statistic, the cautionary tale they tell at motivational seminars. 'Don’t be like Vinny, who tried her best and still ended up working at a used car lot.'

Honestly, I don’t even know if it’s about the grades anymore. It’s like this need to prove to myself that I’m worthy, that I can meet these crazy high expectations I’ve set. But every time I fall short, I start questioning everything. Like, should I be studying more? Sleeping less? Inventing a time machine to give myself more hours in the day?

So, yeah, that’s me—Vinny, the girl who’s in a never-ending competition with herself. I know it’s ridiculous, but at this point, I’m in too deep.  And who knows? Maybe one day I’ll learn to laugh at myself, even when I drop a pin or two.

                              (∂ω∂)

It’s been a week since that disastrous chemistry class, and I wish I could say things have gotten better. Spoiler alert: they haven’t. If anything, the awkwardness between me, Austin, and Kevin has multiplied, like some kind of algebraic equation gone wrong. Every time I walk into chemistry, it feels like I’m stepping into a minefield—one wrong move, and everything could blow up in my face.