I hate my face, I hate my scars. My body is also quite literally defective, but I can hide that with clothes. I can’t hide my face. I think about it every day. I think about it every single time someone is talking to me and their eyes get drawn to my scars and imperfections on my face and I mentally will them with all my might to look back at my eyes when they’re talking to me. I’ve become so insecure about my bad skin, it’s contributed to me distancing myself from getting close enough (literally and figuratively) to anyone to date. I cannot open up to anyone about it, I’d start crying as soon I acknowledge the elephant in the room. And I think people are either grossed out or they feel pity. It wasn’t always like this. I actually had nice skin at one point.

And the worst part is that it’ll continue to get worse, it’ll never really heal. And there’s not much you can do when your skin problems are related to autoimmune and chronic disorders. I can’t talk about it with anyone because I’m just that insecure about it. It’s one of my biggest vulnerabilities and it’s on display every damn day. I hate all these bad genes that I was handed. I know it’s out of their control, but I feel this irrational anger that my parents gave birth to such a defective person. Sometimes I feel like I would have been better off being aborted. Why did I get the shitty genes? This is one of many reasons I never want to have kids. Who knows what the hell I’d pass on to them.

The only thing I have going for me are my eyes. Too bad they’re on such an ugly face, attached to a deformed body. I hit my physical attractiveness at 23 and it’s been downhill since then.



Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑