If I can't be beautiful, I want to be invisible.



"You're gorgeous."

This. Is what I hear all the time. This, I do not believe.

I am far. Far. Far. Far, from gorgeous.

Chuck Palahniuk couldn't have said it better when he wrote:
"The difference between how you look and how you see yourself is enough to kill most people."

I know, I said I was starting to feel comfortable in my own skin. I lied.

I tried to convince myself that I was, because, quite frankly, I know that the people around me are sick of hearing me complain.

Hell, I'm sick of hearing me complain.

I don't see what everybody else sees. I don't think what other people think. I look in the mirror and want to vomit. I bet you that I could look at my reflection and point out 20 things wrong with just my face.

You think I'm kidding.

I have self-diagnosed myself with Body Dysmorphic Disorder:
The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders defines body dysmorphic disorder as a somatoform disorder marked by a preoccupation with an imagined defect in appearance which causes clinically-significant distress or impairment in social, occupational, or other important areas of functioning.


So, for people who think that I'm saying the things that I do, or acting the way I do, just to get attention:


Please, think again.