contemplating perfection

One of the things I feel like I talk about alot is my desire for perfection. I look for it constantly in myself and have occasionally tried to impose it on my relationships. After talking with other people who struggle with the same thing, it's interesting on how it comes about.
I can tell you where I get it from. Growing up, I was awkward and eccentric. I never felt entirely comfortable in my skin or my personality (but who doesn't, really). I remember going to a class one morning during my senior year and the teacher said something that changed how I perceived myself. She said that there was just something about me, I didn't act like the other kids, I acted like royalty but not in a pompous way. She thought of Princess Diana every time I walked into a room. Needless to say, it caught me completely off-guard. I disagree with the royalty part but it still gave me a boost. I didn't feel quite as awkward and took a little more pride in my accomplishments. But with each accomplishment, I was convinced I could do better. I'm not one of those prodigy-like talents for academics but I've always thought that if you work harder you can make yourself smarter. Someone's brain is their greatest asset. Since that transition in my senior year, it's become my addiction to make myself smarter. Every exam is a competition...I always want to be the first to finish and in the top 3 percent. My friends make fun of me because I'm usually twitching with anticipation before exams, I never played sports but I can imagine that's kind of what it's like before a game. Every project is an exercise in wanting to be better than everyone else. Every conversation, even, is a chance to learn something or teach something.
After these years, perfection and I have had a bumpy relationship. Sometimes, it's what pushes me to do a good job. Other times, it pushes me to the edge where I just can't take it any more. Briefly, perfection took a toll on my body when I had people telling me that I could be a model...if I managed to lose weight. I was young and stupid and perfection convinced me that a size 3 was completely reasonable for someone who is 5'10 (as my mother would say, I'm much better now). Perfection has dictated whether or not I'd give a guy a chance. The most infamous rejection I can recall was due to his uneven eyebrows. Granted, it's also saved me from the guys that weren't right for me in the least even though they looked great on paper.
Very recently, I've started to relinquish a little bit of my perfectionist tendencies. I've had a class that I just can't beat and I've decided that my happiness is not worth being obsessed with it. I've felt surprisingly better since. Ironically, my perfectionist tendencies make it possible to quit perfectionism for this class cold-turkey. I'm perfect at being not perfect...?
Thinking about my perfectionism and where it comes from, I wonder about addiction. There's alcoholism in my family history and I always wondered if that gene would kick in or if I was saved. Perhaps I just got another breed of addiction and if I give in to it to its full extent, it will kill me just as surely as alcoholism would. I'm not willing to find out. I really love being the first to finish an exam but I also love being able to relax and not worry about the one more thing I could fix. Life's too short. So you can bet your ass I'm going to be good, I'm just done being perfect.