perfectionism

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I understand that perfectionism is the complementary reaction to
disability and mutilation. There is anger in the perfectionist's actions.
I have in mind now three men: Gustave Flaubert, Michelangelo
Buonarroti and Glenn Gould. There are many other of course (Hernam
Melville, and his two characters Ahab and Bartelby, Pontormo, and
Proust. By the way they were all suspect to belong to the autistic spectrum
When life is blocked in its course of easy plenitude, which means a
fluent intercourse with others, it takes some special path, art,
writing,music with a passion fed from revenge. Sometimes, when one
realizes late that life for him or her has been all falsity and
failure, perfectionism in organizing "the remains of the day" may be
the only possible way to exit in the less painful way.
There are also perfectionists in evil unfortunately.

I honestly just stopped saying that historical geniuses were 'on the autistic spectrum' and started relating them to us in what they really are; actual human beings. Yes, I am making a grand distinction here between 'us and them', 'sheep and shepherd', etc.

Maybe it is that the drive to express oneself, to communicate, takes on different routes when communication with people is not easy. Like a river, the water must flow somewhere.
I wonder what kind of inner lives a lot of artists/writers/poets had? Not happy perhaps, but very creative certainly. Like the myth of the Greek god Hephaestos, who put his pain of non-belonging - he was disabled, not 'perfect' like the other Olympians - into beautiful sculptures and pieces of metalwork.

I am not thinking of "geniuses" as a consolation for being handicapped or mutilated, but only as an example of a way that can be taken, not to become celebrities, but to allay the feeling of void. If you cultivate a garden or a small balcony with flowers you can devote all yourself to do something beautiful, and, in a way, meaningful. You will not become a celebrity for that, but you may allay your anguish.
As for the celebrities cited (Proust etc) they were all extremely unhappy. Only minimally were they pleased by public recognition, perfection of their work was what they looked for most esclusively.
Kafka didn't want to publish his stories and novels, but used to say "literature is the only life I can experience". And he became a fundamental turning point in twentieth century narrative; but this happened after his death and only because his will to having everything destroyed was not respected by the people who happened to have his manuscripts.