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.



Someday I will be able to accept compliments without feeling uncomfortable and thinking that the person complimenting me either has no idea what they’re talking about or is just trying to be nice or doesn’t really mean it.

That someday may however be when I’m just a jar of ashes.

Perhaps, the problem is not the intensity of your love, but the quality of the people you are loving.

I pass by people, grazing them on the edges, and it bothers me. I’ve got to admire someone to really like them deeply.” – Sylvia Plath, Unabridged Journals 

“his eyes were the same colour as the sea in a postcard someone sends you when they love you, but not enough to stay.” -warsan shire

I’ve always had this underlying, mostly dormant but very present, knowledge/acceptance that marriage and kids are not in my future. Like I feel like I just know, but I can’t explain it. It’s a little less consistent with at least having a good long-term relationship/companionship but it’s still there. And it’s just always there as a presence, regardless of when my self-esteem and self-worth have been really low or really high or just in between. It feels like more of an acceptance of reality, not a feeling of being defeated by love. I just feel like I’m always going to be that girl who will be alone for the majority of her life (which is not the same as being lonely). And I don’t think about this to pity myself, or to sell myself short (look, I know I’m an awesome person, but the kind of awesome that makes people want to not give too much thought to), or have others pity me, or be dramatic about never finding someone to fit that role, but I just feel, from within my gut and soul, like I’m never going to be that girl who has a long committed loving relationship, and I’ve never felt the urge to marry or procreate, so where else does that leave me?

I think it would take a very very special guy to exist and make me feel secure and confident of our relationship, where I wouldn’t have to guess that he loves me, all of me. I’m a realistic idealist? I don’t know what I am. Well, one thing I do know is that as much of a hard exterior I put on, sometimes I feel like a house made of toothpicks, ready to fall down in big chunks rather than uniformly and equally in a gradual manner. The churning lava inside a dormant volcano on the verge of exploding from trying to a balance between feeling too much and bottling too many feelings up in order to function normally.

We settle for less than we deserve. We convince ourselves we made it, that we passed a societal expectation. But why do we have to? Why do we still have this expectation that it’s abnormal to be okay with just being alone indefinitely?

I feel like when I do very rarely in the past few years go on a date, it just feels masochistic. It’s like trying to pass over the same electric fence regardless of how many times you’ve been zapped.  It makes me feel not worth it or appreciated enough, even though while alone, I like myself very much. But if you continue to give dating a chance and it’s one disappointment after another, you’re still supposed to feel undefeated about love because people will think you failed at life if you can’t get even attract one man to stick around long enough to even consider marriage (which you don’t even feel like you need in the first place).

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