This will be about as "feeling"-ish as I get and I'll probably delete it soon, but bear with me if you so choose.
It's unbelievable how hard I try. I always have new goals, new levels to reach, new self-imposed challenges. A whole, if I can't be beautiful, I want to be invisible, sort of thing. But the sad thing I'm starting to realize is, I'll never be satisfied.
That's good and that's bad, because I'll always try to be better. But, at the same time, I'll always wonder what out there is better for me.
There's an equally powerful force in my mind that balances out the desire to be perfect, it's the feeling that I'm not. I'm my own worst enemy in the truest sense of the phrase. If I keep moving, I'm fine with it, whatever. But when the inevitable gut-wrenching moments come along, well, I'm not a pretty place to be.
I guess I'm still waiting for my Deus Ex Machina. And as long as I have that hope, I'll last.
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