Happy to be Ugly

Sometimes I'm convinced that being unattractive is a blessing.

Don't get me wrong, you won't catch me being completely comfortable with what I look like, because in that sense, I'm completely normal in that I could list insecurities as long as a pre-teen's birthday list. I'm convinced that any spot creams or scrubs I try make me break out more, I constantly obsess over the fact that I have hairy hands, and if I don't dye my hair on time, I stare in the mirror for a long time freaking out that my natural hair colour is in fact grey. 


Still, when I look at some of the girls in my year, the beautiful ones, the kind that you know are going to be beautiful for the rest of their lives and profit from it in any which way, I'm jealous, of course, but at the same time, I'm not. I listen to their stories, of how they're constantly hollered at, chatted up by strangers, and betrayed by those they thought were friends. Maybe they just pick their friends wrong, but a part of me is glad that, not being stick-thin, spotless and radiant, I can get on with things that really matter to me. I don't get approached by the male species unless I'm being particularly insane and they enquire what on earth I'm doing. Sometimes, I wish that I could be heckled, because it's a sign of want, desire, admiration, even when it is by a 30-something guy hobbling drunk on the high street. Then again, I don't. It's confusing, I know, but isn't everything when it comes to confidence?

I know, without a doubt, that my friends aren't that because I have a lot of money, or because I have a "rocking body". They're my friends because they like me, my spirit, who I am, not what I am. So, on some days, I get up and look at myself in the mirror and feel a sickening pain in my stomach that I'm not what I want to be. But then there are days, like today when I'm going out with a life-time friend, when I look in the mirror, go "meh" and move on.

If I'm going to be religious at any point in this matter, it is that I believe that before I began this life, my soul selected my path. What I was going to look like, what I was going to be good at, it's all been decided by a higher force. I was very well aware of what would happen, that at one point I'd starve myself by writing all day and putting food at the back of my mind, or at another I'd refuse to stand up when talking to any boy because I was terrified that my 6-foot height would intimidate them and scare them off. I knew all of this, and still I chose to, because somewhere amongst all of this insecurity and disorder-leaning tendencies, there's a confident, wise person inside of me trying to break out, and though I might not realise it everyday...

There's a lesson to be learnt here.

The End

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