Was looking for flaws and found only my own

Suspicion exists to chomp and crunch away at the remnants of my ego, truly. 

She appears almost like an ideal; I like her, and I admire her. Yet, the moment I ask myself where the chink in her armor of perfection might be, I realize that *I* am that very chink. I have never wished anyone harm; the only thing I might envy is an image I’ve conjured up—a vision where her success is fueled by an inner sense of well-being. But could she have paid a price that no one else suspects? How? What does she have to sacrifice? Does she even have to sacrifice anything at all? 

I am not meant to walk someone else’s path, and, clearly, I do not wish for her downfall. I only seek an answer—some form of solace, a justification for my own decline. 

I have long been prone to idealizing what I like and demonizing what I don’t. In my eyes, every one of her successes brings her closer to divinity. Conversely, any failure—or even a hurtful or merely neutral remark from those close to me—transforms them into someone... Make them ??? And then, I am a terrible person again: how could I have thought so poorly of them? They dispel my doubts, and I am forced to confront the ugliness within me—ugliness that merely reflects itself in other people. But the reflection is not what’s real; what’s real is the thing that has lived within me and tormented me for so long. 

If a thought is a crime, why haven’t I been punished yet? Then again, perhaps living alone with myself—that *is* the punishment.