4:14 p.m.

hšŖliches kind

I knew that my happiness wouldnít last long. Itís my own fault.

I fool myself.

I fool myself into thinking that maybe Iím ok. That maybe itís not so horrible being me, and Iím not this disgusting, hideous awful person.

Itís a joke.

Iím a joke.

My life is a fucking joke.

You know, itís quite apparent here that I have shitty self esteem. I donít try to hide it. I know Iím not gorgeous, I know Iím not beautiful. But I do try to hide it in real life. I try to pretend Iím ok.

But I made this stupid mistake of thinking maybe I was pretty. Just a little.

Because you know, pretty is subjective.

There are standards that everyone thinks is beautiful or gorgeous, but pretty can be anything. The quirky smile on the cashier at the grocery store, or the way someoneís eyes light up or something Ė anything that you think is attractive on someone else.

Words can be extremely hurtful, but silence when you need to hear something hurts more.

Simply put, Iím not pretty. I never have been. I never will be.

Itís like the whole ĎI may be fat, but youíre ugly, but I can always dietí thing.

No matter how much I purge, or how much I starve Ė Iíll never be pretty.

I feel like such a fool for even entertaining the thought.

Iím not stupid. I know exactly what Iím doing to myself. I know itís wrong. I know itís impossible.

But, I also know Iím going to die trying to be something I never can achieve.

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