Imperfect much?

It's getting out of bed in the morning that's the most tedious bit. One more day, one more bloody day slugging through life and heat and monotony. One of many more to come, but just one at present to get through.

She walks to the mirror first thing, to remind herself of what she is, take it in so she won't forget the imperfections, physical and otherwise. They glare at her, those eyes, they're not her own anymore. It makes her wonder when she stopped looking for change she'd welcome, instead of another flaw, another thing to make her hate herself, to mutter under her breath "Yeah, join the club, why don't you. We've got quite the party going on here."

She used to wake up happy, but that was back then. Happy, and still walk to the mirror (oldhabitsdiehard) to see if she looked better than she had yesterday. Or the day before. There was always encouragement, always hope, maybe tommorrow. But all that she sees now are mistakes glaring at her, angry and blatant, and she feels like one herself : The bigger picture of a mistake.

It makes her accept why they all seem to be so ashamed of being with her. Each and every one of them. Why she must be the guilty pleasure, the dirty secret. They're all there, shameful face and all, claiming to love. But not accept. What's not to accept, she ponders, sometimes. Just sometimes. But the reflection always tells her to look closer till she can see the flaws again.

Then she shrugs, nonchalantly and tears herself away.

It's just one more day. Yeah.