The Mirror

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I stand there in front of the solid thin object in front of me. It seems to be able to show what I look like, and I hate what I see. Worse I'm disgusted by what I see. How can someone see this face everyday and not feel like it's not human.
I touch my face and I see that when I squish my cheeks I look even worse than when I didn't touch my face. Who would look at this face? Would date this face? Who would be friends with this face? Who would accept this face to be considered pretty? No one because this face is ugly. The proof is right in front of me, in that mirror. I wouldn't lie to myself like this if I weren't thinking it. Makeup won't even cover this horrendous look of mine.
A tear runs down my face. My stomach feels funny like I feel pain. Its a small churning of pain. Why? I look down in the mirror and I see a gut. A big gut. An ugly gut. Not a cute little stomach where if you place a hand at it's side it cups just perfect. No, one that can't be cupped but rather the hand is flat because of all that fat. I look even further down and see two fat thighs. Thighs that don't have a gap, nor look good looking. Thighs that look like could give a rash if you walk without pants on.
I look at my face once more and I'm done. I burst out crying but not loud so anyone hears. I cover my face and sink down on the floor. I cry and cry and cry and cry. I don't plan to stop anytime soon. I ask myself this:
"Am I worth living? Why can't I be pretty like others?"

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⏰ Last updated: Jan 11, 2017 ⏰

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