Under My Skin

Lonely World

I spent the entire day getting ready. Cleaning obsessively, combing my hair to a 't'
It took hours to find the right dinner to make for us, then to get the groceries delivered.
I spent hours in the mirror, not even out of vanity, but nerves, alone. I wanted to look perfect, but here's the thing, when you sit right in front of a mirror for too long, you start to notice flaws that you didn't before, not until you were up close. Darkness under my eyes, small bumps on my skin, hairs out of place. Did I always have that ingrown hair on my cheek? That wasn't there yesterday, where did it come from? I just shaved my face this morning. God, I look awful, don't I? My pores are giant. Maybe I should cancel, tell him not to come. I look horrible, he shouldn't see me like this.

Overwhelmed with frustration, I grabbed the pair of tweezers from my cabinet and began to pick away at my skin, trying to remove the hair, myself. I picked apart my pores until I finally got ahold of the stray hair, ripping it from under the skin. By the time I was finished, it was bright red, I'd only made it worse. It was all you could see, you couldn't just look at me, all you can see is the giant bright red spot of irritation on my face, it was only more obvious than before. It never makes it better. I always do this, I spot an imperfection on my skin and I just start picking at it, tearing away until it's gone, leaving a bloody, red spot on my skin, that you can spot from miles away. That only creates a more obvious imperfection for me to pick at for weeks, over and over again until it's nothing but a scar. It's an incredibly redundant and self destructive habit of mine, but it's one I've had for a long time. Now, all I can do is cover the broken skin with a small piece of toilet paper to stop the bleeding, and pray he doesn't notice how ugly I've made myself.

He's always so good looking, all the time. I don't know how he does it, he never looks bad, he's always so handsome. Even when he's looking a bit more rough around the edges, he still looks pretty. No matter how tired he is, whether he forgot to wash his face before he went to bed, he looks good. I envy him. He's so good looking. And I'm so... not.
There's no good reason for him to like me, and frankly, I don't know if I'll ever be able to understand what on Earth it was that made me attractive to him in the least. I'm not handsome like he is, I'm not smart like him, I'm not successful or charming, I'm just this.. weird kid. Stuck in his parents house until the day he dies, with nothing to offer anyone.
I'm not worthless. But I'm certainly not worth nearly as much as he is. He has so much to offer. I have absolutely nothing.

Maybe I should call him, tell him not to come. I look like Hell, I'm a wreck. I don't deserve to have dinner with him, I'm not good enough, especially not now, now that I look like I have track marks on my face.
I should call him and tell him not to come over tonight, shouldn't I?
No, I can't, I don't have the time. I still need to set the table and finish preparing dinner, dessert's already made, I don't have time to call him and cancel.

It's not like I want to cancel on him, I love seeing him, nobody makes me happier. I'm just panicking a little, I think. I don't look good. At least, I don't feel like I do. I want to look good for him tonight, it's out first real date.

I took a big deep breath and one last look at myself in the mirror, before buttoning my collar and tightening my belt, preparing myself to face him.

I know he likes me. But I can't get rid of the fear that he'll realize how much better he could have it. He could have someone good looking, he could have someone stable, happy, someone who can take him out on actual dates outside his house. I'm so worried he'll just snap out of it and realize he could do so much better.

Nevertheless, I forced myself away from the mirror and ran a comb through my hair one last time, before taking the tread down the stairs

I'd already prepared the meal, I like to make it early, so when I put it in the oven, I can already have the dishes done. It makes everything feel neater, less suffocated. I can't help but feel cramped when there's more than two dishes in the sink.