“Your face” she thought, catching glance of her reflection “isn’t the right shape. Where are your cheekbones? Why is your chin not inline with your nose? You’re flawed”
“Your skin”, she sighed, pausing before she applied her mask, “isn’t smooth. Look at those flaws; stare at them. They’re disgusting. You’re disgusting”
“You”, she cried, turning away from the face that haunted her, “are ugly. Unlovable, disgusted, flawed.”
Turning away from her mirror, the girl places an ugly smile upon her too small lips. Others call her beautiful, but all she sees is her apparent flaws. She isn’t flawed, nobody is, but she’ll never realise this. Every time she sees her reflection she winces, faced with the reality of her.
Time goes on, and her care about her looks slowly fades. She’s still insecure, extremely so, but she know that there are so many things that are so much more important.
“You look good today,” she smiles to her reflection, “you’ve come a long way.”
She still has many off days, after all, nobody is completely secure in their skin.
“Your friends are so much prettier than you,” she tuts with a sad smile, “why do they even spend time with you?”
Her friends love her, she just doesn’t realise. They can’t understand how someone can be so nice to everyone, and how someone can never have an argument with anyone.
She sets herself many internal rules in order to stay nice: If someone can’t change something about their appearance in 5 minutes, don’t comment on it; Compliment someone every day; Don’t say anything to anyone else that would be upsetting if said to her.
Still, sometimes she worries her personality is annoying. She often stays quiet whilst her friends chat at lunch. Other days, she’s full of life and as loud as them. It depends how she’s feeling.
When she’s alone, she’ll sing her heart out. Others say her voice is beautiful. They stop to stare when she begins to sing. They stop in awe, but she sees them as stopping in annoyance.
She’s jealous of everyone else. Her friends are so talented: dancers, singers, artists, actors. What’s she to compare to them? Others are jealous of her. They want her voice, her ability to make anything into a beautiful photograph, her way of being nice to everyone.
She’s working on it. Though she still truly believes that her insecure thoughts are the truth, she’s learnt to accept both sides of the story. She listens to what her friends say; she records it in her mind as a source of happiness. She writes it all down here, in a third person diary.