I’m not the kind of girlwho can take a single selfie and post it on Instagram. I’m the kind of girl who takes twenty paintings in a row, decides that none of them are good enough, and then strolls around feeling ugly for the rest of the day.
I’m not the kind of girlwho can walk out of the house and face the whole world without putting on makeup, inserting my contacts, and doing my hair. I’m not the kind of girlwho can wear sweatpants and a pajama shirtin front of complete strangers.
I’m not the kind of girlwho is ever going to look in the mirror and be happy with herreflection.
I’m the kind of girlwho screams out of frustration every time I get the wings of my liner incorrect, every time my hair won’t curl in the way that I want it to. I’m the kind of girl who wants to smash the mirror to pieces every morning, because it keepsshowing me someoneI hate.
I’m the kind of girl who changes her hair colouring as often as possible, because I guess new is better. Because I want to distance myself from my real ego as much as possible.
I’m the kind of girlwho hears compliments about how beautiful I look and brushes them off. I’ll smile, say thank you, and act like I appreciate the words — even though I don’t believe them. Even though I guess the other person isjust trying to be nice, that they are just saying what they guess I want to hear.
I’m not the kind of girl who loves herself. Whowouldn’tchange a thing about herself, even if she could.
I’m the kind of girl who compares herself to everyone she sees, even though I know it’s dangerous, even though I know it’s not right. But when I stroll past a girl with thick lips and a skinny waist, I suppose 😛 TAGEND
I hate thinking like that. I detest being so insecure.
I wish I loved the way I seemed. I wish I supposed I was pretty. I wish I could take a scene without scrutinizing every featureon my face.
And, yes, there are days when I feelconfident. WhenI catchmyself in goodlighting and feel sexy AF. When I think that anyone would be lucky to have me, thatI’m someone worthwhile.
But then the next day, I’m right back at square one. I’m back to hating myself, to wondering how anyone could ever call me pretty.
I want to change this destructiveway of thinking. I want to love the girl I see in the mirror.
And I’m trying. But it’s hard for me to see the beauty in myself, even though I can see the beauty in everybody else. Even though I know all the girls I’ve ever met is goddamn gorgeous.