Water caresses my body like a loving embrace. The water isn’t warm enough, but it’s tolerable. Like every other shower I take, I sit on the ceramic floor, let the water wash over my naked body, and merely contemplate life.
When people think of me, they think of me as happy. Because that’s what I am. I’m always happy.
It’s an act. It’s all an act. I think I’m fat. I think I’m ugly. I think I’m a worthless waste of a being and no one will ever be able to convince me differently.
I can take criticism. I can. I can take banter. You can call me ugly and an attention whore and I won’t think twice about it.
I look at myself in the mirror every day and can name all my flaws. I used to see myself as pretty. But the brain sees you fifty percent prettier than you are. And I only see myself as fifty percent pretty.
So how am I, in the terms of looks? I have a fat tummy. My face is too bony. My smile is ugly.
I’m not perfect.
Nobody’s perfect, so why aim for it?
But there are many people so pretty, so much closer to perfection than I’ll ever be.
Like I’m in a trance, I wash my hair. I shave my legs and wash my body. Words rush through my mind like a roller coaster.
All insults. All aimed at me. I never wanted any of this. This year, I was to be different. I wanted to start anew. I wanted to be beautiful.
I wanted to be perfect.
No, that’s not allowed.
Not for me.
I’m not allowed to feel happy.