Diary Of A Pretty Girl

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When you grow up you realize how everyone always told you that you were pretty. It didn't really mean anything to you nor did those words stand out, it was just something people said. Pretty was not a concept that appealed to you or even pertained to you as a person. It wasn't anything you observed while looking into the mirror. You were just you.

As you get older it still doesn't process in your head. Everyone tells you how pretty you are, but they might have been talking about the weather for all you know.

You develop further, into those awkward teens and become so shy. Everyone tells you you're pretty but you can't even look a person in the eye while you speak with them. And the boys you like never seem to like you back, but you never blame your looks because it's not something you really notice.

People suddenly tell you that they always admired you and no matter how invisible you try to be they always tell you that they wished they looked like you, or they wished they were friends with you. Your photos receive nothing but admirable feedback. You know what angles of yourself you like and how to accentuate them. You know your strong features, you know what people might find attractive and you go with the flow and people's admiration towards you never lessens. It's strange to you that people still somehow know you exist even if you stay hidden in the corner of the room. People mention your name in conversations. They have opinions of you. And it's kind of scary to think in a way…

You get scared when men hit on you in public and you try to avoid ever being alone outdoors. Even when you're not, someone will always find a way and for some reason it's the most horrifying feeling in the world.

After you get your first boyfriend you never stay single after that. Not even once. You flow from one love into the other in hopes they will actually treat you right and  won't break your heart. Because underneath the pretty they find the real you. Raw and dysfunctional. With your insecurities and instability. Suddenly the face that everyone craves becomes a familiar mound of flesh. They get used to you and it's no big deal if they hurt you. And you hurt them back because if you won't stand up for yourself no one else will. It makes you wonder what's the point of being pretty?

Eventually you find someone you admire. Someone so physically beautiful you feel that if you looked like them you would have no problems. That no one would ever want to hurt you if only you looked like that.

That's kind of fucked up isn't it?

That the thought of changing your appearance makes you feel like you suddenly will become a better person.

You wonder if you give off that air too? You wonder if someone looks at you and feels that way about you.

"If i was her i'd have my shit together. I would be alright."



In the end nothing really changes.

And the story really has no conclusion.

After all. These are just my unpolished thoughts.

(Tumblr Post: karolinanoumenon.tumblr.com/ta… )
© 2013 - 2024 KarolinaNoumenon
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LmonLimeCat's avatar
*Sigh* Yeah, I suppose, when I was younger I had lots of compliments from adults and other kids for being "pretty", and to be honest, it made me blush every time. I guess that's what happens when your parents tell you that you're ugly everyday. Then 5th grade happened, and I had a group totally devoted to making me feel self-conscious. It got worse and worse til 7th grade. I think my brain must've been messed up at that time, because I always thought of the school as a hierarchy? All of these pretty girls were at the top, my old "friends" at the top, and I hit the dirt ground. I assumed that the few friends I had who seemed "normal" were making me more normal just by hanging out with them, and those "below normal" were dragging me down. I sat alone at a small square table or had to ask for a seat during lunch... it was humiliating. Friends were a thing that I had a hard time making. Almost impossible.

And wow, I still hate that year.

It's one thing to have my mom tell my sister to not look like me and my dad to scream in my face and hit me, and another to go to school where everyone stared and giggled and judged. I had so many issues its crazy. I plucked my eyelashes, rubbed off my eyebrows, scratched up the pimples on my face and back, cried literally everyday, developed weird addictions and rashes from stress.... my old friends would stare at me like I was a freak. I remember standing at my bus stop, with a bunch of other "friends" and my mom (because I was lame like that), and they always hung out in a little circle while my dumb ass would stay with my mom far away from them. She told me that I barely spoke the entire year, but I don't really know if that's true.

But I guess to tell the truth, I mainly hate myself from that year.

And then in 8th grade I met so many wonderful friends, changed my appearance, avoided my dad, faced the "incident" with my cousins, got good grades, and had a hilariously awesome year. That's definitely my best year ever. Also when I got my first compliment in a long time in that year. Just a woman working at a store, Jungle Jims, looked at me and said to my mom "you have beautiful children." and I swear I almost cried.

I guess I actually developed a sense of "self" during that year? I no longer felt the intense hatred towards myself, the need to critique the way I walked or the expressions on my face or the volume of my voice.
I'm kind of disappointed now, how much beauty means to everyone (and me) and how it helped ruined 3 years of my life that were already crappy.