N
nAnsible
Guest
We were joking with each other. He walks out of the room. His father then takes the opportunity to turn to me and say, “What are you? The daughter of a gorilla?”
If everyone in the world were blind, I would be beautiful.
Fuck society.
It means that I am profoundly ugly, primitive, stupid. I am the farthest from attractive a female can possibly be. I am like a gorilla.
Imagine a gorilla with lipstick, and this is how I see myself. This is how the world sees me. This is how I am.
I just want somebody to talk to about this. Somebody who won’t judge me. Somebody who won’t insist that I start waxing off my facial hair, or pay for laser treatment. Somebody who won’t insist that I have fucking PCOS. I know what PCOS is, and however much I wish, I don’t have it. Instead, all of this hair is genetic. I can’t do anything about it. I might as well go die, seeing as I have no chance whatsoever at reproducing.
When I hear the most hilarious, intelligent guy I know talk about the beautiful girls in his health class, I feel like shooting myself.
You know, I dream of being in an accident where all of my skin is perfectly, uniformly destroyed, so it can be replaced with new, clean, hairless skin. I dream of inventing the first working permanent one-use hair-removal cream. I dream that I die and am reincarnated as a beautiful intelligent girl. I dream that someone will fall in love with me, just the way I am. Ridiculous.
The reality is that I have to trudge on, content without love and sex. Content without a husband. Content without a truly complete family. Content to pointedly ignore all aspects of my own appearance in conversation. Content to be second-class to the beautiful people of the world. Content to a lifetime of self-hate. Content to be unworthy of anyone’s attention.
The truth is, I’m so very tired.
Life is short, and for that, I am glad.
If everyone in the world were blind, I would be beautiful.
Fuck society.
It means that I am profoundly ugly, primitive, stupid. I am the farthest from attractive a female can possibly be. I am like a gorilla.
Imagine a gorilla with lipstick, and this is how I see myself. This is how the world sees me. This is how I am.
I just want somebody to talk to about this. Somebody who won’t judge me. Somebody who won’t insist that I start waxing off my facial hair, or pay for laser treatment. Somebody who won’t insist that I have fucking PCOS. I know what PCOS is, and however much I wish, I don’t have it. Instead, all of this hair is genetic. I can’t do anything about it. I might as well go die, seeing as I have no chance whatsoever at reproducing.
When I hear the most hilarious, intelligent guy I know talk about the beautiful girls in his health class, I feel like shooting myself.
You know, I dream of being in an accident where all of my skin is perfectly, uniformly destroyed, so it can be replaced with new, clean, hairless skin. I dream of inventing the first working permanent one-use hair-removal cream. I dream that I die and am reincarnated as a beautiful intelligent girl. I dream that someone will fall in love with me, just the way I am. Ridiculous.
The reality is that I have to trudge on, content without love and sex. Content without a husband. Content without a truly complete family. Content to pointedly ignore all aspects of my own appearance in conversation. Content to be second-class to the beautiful people of the world. Content to a lifetime of self-hate. Content to be unworthy of anyone’s attention.
The truth is, I’m so very tired.
Life is short, and for that, I am glad.
