Confessions of a Sore Loser

I am competitive. That is oh so true. In fact I am overly competitive that failure is never a viable option for me. I take losses seriously and for this reason, I am a sore loser.

Perfection is my art and with perfection ideally comes, or at least in my mind, a hundred percent guarantee of winning. The world, however, has its many ways of proving me wrong. Thinking that I am certainly going to succeed in everything I do has boosted my pride to unreachable heights. Because of this too much pride in me, I find it so hard to accept defeats. In being a sore loser, I realized that perfection may well be a good thing, but it brings about all the negative things when you allow it to consume you.

I remember during my junior year, I always hate to lose that every time I do, I always find a reason so that I would not be the one blamed for losing. Last Student Council elections, I and my team put in our best efforts and did everything we could to win, but to my disappointment, we lost. Every time such things happen, I always get mad with my team members because they let me down. And so, I always put the blame on them every time we lose, but what I don’t see is I possibly could have made more mistakes than all of their mistakes combined together.

I sometimes  always think highly of myself and always see myself on the winning side. It is what I will call optimism to the next level. Maybe not optimism, maybe it’s too much confidence, or maybe too much of both. I know I have the skills and that I can always succeed, but this confidence and optimsm is pulling me down to failures. I will always get overly complacent and let others get ahead of me. I am like a runner who runs first the whole race, but at the last few strides suddenly slow down knowing that they’re all too far behind. Every time I slow down, they always do get ahead of me and I end up finishing third or second. Knowing that I have the skills to win, losing is just so wrong and ironic, just like how a predator gets eaten by its prey.

        

And as the years have passed and to satisfy the societal demands of good conduct, I have learned to slowly bury it deeper and deeper within me, locked up in the deepest pits of Tartarus in me hoping that it never will come out again.