Letters to the people that hurt me.

𝔅 𝔒 𝔜.

August. 2017.

Dear boy,
I will always remember you as a nightmare that robbed the little strength I had left in me to continue my fight. You may not know but at the time I've seen you for the very first time I worked as a waitress in a little restaurant. I made enough money, but I struggled all my life to deal with stress or people, panic attacks hitting me each time I walked into my shift. To my surprise, nobody was around that hour. But you were out with your boys, possibly on your way home. 9:50 PM. You walked by and I felt uncomfortable. I felt the urge to hide yet I knew this would come off even more weird. I sat still, my gaze avoiding you and your friends. You appeared young. Possibly a few years older than my little brother who's 11. I felt my heart race and for a moment I just wished for you to disappear. You didn't. The shirt I wore used to slip off my shoulders and I tried to fix it yet what then came stopped me from everything.

"You're still ugly."
You.
Are.
Still.
Ugly.
You.
Are.
Still.
Ugly.

You.

Are.

Still.

Ugly.

I felt like the whole world laughed.

This letter is to you from the still ugly girl.
I never felt confident in my looks. I struggled to feel home wherever I went and there were always girls that looked better than me in my eyes. I hated that I didn't have anything special. I am short and skinny. I don't have any curves unless you count the one from my crooked nose that occurred when my brother accidentally punched me. My eyes are small, uneven and my hair is nothing but a thick dark mess of hollowness. I may appear confident or arrogant to some eyes. I am breaking inside. That night I had put a lot of efforts in my looks. I straightened my hair, I did my makeup and I worked for the first time without feeling my mental problems a bit.

But I was still the ugly girl.

I will always be the ugly depressed little girl.

girls that look flawless, have bright eyes and stand tall. Girls that could roll up the hem of their jeans and still look tall. The girls that had silky smooth hair and smelled like flowers. They listen to pop music. Chainsmokers and Troye to electronic, I think.

I am the complete opposite, but I tried to be one of them multiple times.

I am the girl that has dark circles and shadows pronunciation dark eyes. I have red spots peeping from each corner of my face. I can't roll up my jeans because at the end of the day I will look shorter than I already am. I feel uncomfortable in clothing that other girls wear on the daily. I listen to music that is known as nothing but "lost teenager" or "suicide rap". I create my own world by the time I put my music on. The world where nobody cares or judges me for who I am.

That night I found happiness and peace, but you brought back the storm inside of me. I didn't want to cry in front of you, no, instead I took my walk to the next station.

I cried.

I cried a lot.

I don't remember crying this much.

I tried to stop but I couldn't.

People were already staring and wondering why I was such a crybaby.

I wish I knew why I was a crybaby.

Maybe I should get a tattoo with Crybaby written in big letters.

Just like LiL Peep.

You helped the voices in my head to win control over me.

I got into my bus, I couldn't speak. My throat was choked by your words. My mother called me, yet I couldn't talk, only humming as a respond. I felt myself dying.I cried the entire way home and I cried myself to sleep. I didn't want to eat, and I felt embarrassed to even look in the mirror. I couldn't do my makeup anymore without breaking down into tears, the mask I created couldn't conceal me or the ugly nature I was born with.

I felt like I didn't have to put effort anymore. It would hurt less when I put on oversized clothes and walk around without makeup because as defense I could always claim: "I didn't put in effort."

It would hurt less.

Dear boy.
I don't blame you nor did you cause all this.
But you triggered my depression and doubts to come to light and lately they have been guiding me.

I am a book. A book that takes time until you hit that one spot that will capture your stomach into a twist and knot your throat. I have an old soul that feels lost in this generation. Your words will always be drops of blood on my yellow pages. I know you judge me, don't deny it. I would do the same, if I was in your shoes. I am different.

From.

The still ugly depressed little crybaby.