It’s genuinely horrible to discover what people really think of you. Especially when this image they have is someone you would never recognise in the mirror. In fact it’s an image so very far from the truth, that you wonder if they’ve actually ever met you at all. Either that or they’ve clearly hit their head and are suffering from serious amnesia.
A little over a month ago I gave a mini-speech at a teenage fiction award ceremony, and I essentially got up onstage and told all these young girls that the next few years were likely to be the worst of their lives. I believe “Teens suck. Girls are horrible, and guys are non-existent..” may have been my exact words. As awful as I felt afterward, who am I to ruin that delightful surprise, I lied. *Life* sucks. And it doesn’t appear to be improving anytime soon.
That was morbid. And not exactly true. It just makes me feel physically ill to think that people see me as something that I’m not. Something so ridiculously opposite of what I am, that they end up resenting me.
I am not that girl. The one who looks in her mirror and sees everything she ever dreamed of. The one who knows how attractive she is and uses her looks to her advantage, flaunting everything she possibly can. The one who can pick and choose between guys and girls alike, turning her rejections to a quivering mess because they’re not on her list that week.
I am not even the quivering mess. Not anymore. Once, maybe. Once, I was the girl that cared what people thought. The girl who skulked in the corners, afraid to be herself in case it wasn’t good enough. The girl who let people she cared about stomp all over her and reduce her to that quivering mess. Once, I was definitely that girl. But not anymore.
Now? I refuse. I refuse to be anything other than who I am. It’s pointless and depressing and fucked up, you end up hating yourself because every time you pretend to be something else, someone else, you end up losing a little of yourself.
And, well, I like who I am. Sure I’m not a fan of how I look, who is, but *who* I am? I’d like to think I’m okay. I’m weird. And have the most pointless issues. And obsess over hats, and rubber ducks. I sing disney whilst washing up, and thrash-metal when baking cakes.
I’m not a bitch.