practically imperfect in every way

After a long week of dressing up, putting on the face, the hair, the make up, all my body and mind want to do is put on the comfy clothes, wash off the paint and put on the glasses.  But I don't until I know everyone is gone, the world is behind closed doors and it's just me. To have me, to myself where I can be as imperfect as I want  and no left to judge.  Deep down, I know I shouldn't care what other people think. I have built myself from nothing into something, I have my flaws and I cherish each one as a wounded soldier would cherish battle scars. At the end of the day it isn't enough for me to accept me.  I crave acceptance in a world that is our living Hell.  In a world where child abuse is rampant, where fathers and mothers leave their children behind for their own selfishness, where a woman returns home each night with her child to the man who beat her before they both left for work.  How is it that I crave acceptance knowing I am better than all this?
Without the barriers I set up, without the pain I feel each day over the decisions I make to live the life I have set up, who would I be?  Why is it that I already know the answer but am unwilling to share that with anyone?  I'm told I am naive and trusting, how did I get to be that way?
I won't blame parenting because I think I had two of the most amazing parents in the world. I blame me, I blame my insecurities.  I am imperfect in my eyes so I will continue to smile that smile I get complimented on.  I will run the miles to run away from myself and to get to the nowhere I think is happiness that I am unable achieve.  I will look at myself in the mirror and hate what I see, but I will dress the part that fits for the day I have been given and I will smile.
For fear that a knock may come at the door, to the untrained eye, my kitchen is perfectly clean but the dishes are unwashed in the dishwasher.  My bathroom is germ free, until you see the hair in the drain.  My bedroom is spotless, then you look to the left and see the residue of hairspray I have yet to wash off.  I live my life a step away from perfection. I fear it.  I live it.  It is me, a step away from perfc.