I’ve always believed it was my job to fix the world. To make everything perfect.
I never actually said that. I didn’t even consciously think it. But I walked through the world feeling a sort of panic — a desperation to fix things — that most people never experience.
Looking back, it’s obvious now where that fear came from. As I was growing up, my narcissistic father held me responsible for being perfect. I was punished for any deviation from what he thought was right and good. And he constantly judged everybody and everything around me.
Behind their backs, he ridiculed people who did things incorrectly. If he saw a public mistake — a timing error on a live television show or a typo in a newspaper, for instance — he used to tell me that someone must have been fired for the mistake. And I believed him.
I’m still afraid of my own imperfection. I still feel panic when I see others’ mistakes. After all these years, there’s still a nagging feeling inside that I have to fix everything — or else I’ll be punished.

It’s a very old cliche, but it’s true: Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt
When it comes to politics and race, double standards are everywhere
Every addiction is heart’s effort to fill inner hole that requires love
Dead man’s watch always there to remind me of my own mortality
What missed chances are you going to regret when it’s too late to change?
Would you secretly kill someone to get what you want the most?
Does every loss of love finally become a case of ‘sour grapes’?