I used to hate myself. I used to wake up and take myself as far as I could from the mirrors so I wouldn't have to see the mess I've made of myself. I wanted to be perfect, to look perfect, to feel perfect. I wanted people to look at me and envy my eyes and my smile. But then I realized that I could never be perfect if I always hid. If I always kept the mask over my eyes and shied away, perfection could only be a dream. I was fighting this war in my mind, one full of unsuccessful vanity and perceived perfection. But after I accepted myself, the war became a battle and the battle became a fight and the fight became an argument and the argument became a conversation and the conversation became a thing of the past. I let all of these perceived emotions go and even though I was still alone, I was able to see the underlying beauty that comes with pain. You can either let it kill you or strengthen you, and all this time I've been making the wrong choice. I've been defined by my imperfections ever since you left, I cry too much and I'm too clingy and nobody in the world is worse than I am. I used to agree with you because I thought that you loved me and if you loved me, you wouldn't tell me I'm beautiful and not mean it.
