Funny when your own head is a double edged blade, huh?

I seem to find the imperfection of days to be the most beautiful. The goofy moments, the little mistakes, the figuring things out, the unexpected.

But those same moments sometimes lead me to the nights where I lay down with a little chip on my heart and concede, "Not all days will be beautiful."

I'm happier. I'm stabler. I must concede things are better.

So why can I not concede that I will never be perfect?

These days I end like this sometimes hurt much more than the ones I give up on. These are the days I did all I could and just accept defeat at the end of the day, knowing every day isn't perfect.

Why am I such a starving perfectionist that even stability cannot sate me?

I hate myself when I do this. When I keep on pushing and pushing my own mental ability until I crack. If I push harder the stability of my mental wall will not strengthen. It will only crumble all the faster.

I am never satisfied. I am selfish. I am wrong. There's this darker side to this pure, bubbly girl I show the world. The monster side. The side that I can never be pleased with, and the side that makes sure I can never be pleased with anything else.

I know this is one imperfect day with one imperfect night. But its hard not to be scared that this is a descent into darkness once more. I'm so scared of the dark by now. Please don't make me go back for too long.

This day has been long and disappointing and imperfect. But I just wish I could hate it a little less.