The best compliment I ever got was from a 7 year old girl who told me that I had “hair like a princess.”
It was long and blonde, and when I was very lucky, it waved into long, gentle curls. My hair was the one part of me that could ever make me feel beautiful; something to look at. I always considered myself to be the type of person who, if enough effort was applied, could be a supermodel. A selfish thing to say, maybe, but it was more complicated than that.
There’s a difference between looking in the mirror and thinking of yourself as pretty and actually knowing that you are attractive. I fell under the former category. I didn’t consider myself to be unattractive; in fact, when I looked in the mirror I found my features to be quite the opposite of unattractive. But I had no reason to think that anyone else every looked at me and thought the same thing. I was consumed with the belief that I was “ugly,” that people looked at me and saw nothing but a plain, boring, fat, unsociable girl who usually only showered every other day. I was 16 years old and had never had a boyfriend, never been kissed, never even been informed that any boy of any age had a crush on me or even just considered me to be pretty.
Even in my state of “ugliness,” I longed to be more than just “pretty.” I wanted to be beautiful. I wanted to turn heads. I wanted boys to flock to me. A dangerous mindset to have, at my age. I was well aware of the fact that I was turning into the type of girl who will stop at nothing to obtain a boyfriend, and yet I couldn’t rid myself of such daydreams. I lived in a daydream. I’d lay on my bed and closed my eyes and imagined things that I’d like to have happen, I’d sit in class with my head in the clouds, even when doing even complicated tasks I could actually feel myself coming out of a daydream and the real world coming back into focus. Perhaps that was why I never really did anything special with my life; I was too busy dreaming.
I went to school every day and laughed with my friends (all of whom I considered to be far more attractive than myself) and sloughed through my high level classes. No matter how many friends I had, how many people loved my quirky mannerisms, I still felt entirely too awkward. I hated the way I acted around people, felt like a silly, annoying, squealy teenage girl. I went to bed every single night of my life telling myself that the next day I’d be different. I would calm, collected. I would dress well. I’d finish all of my homework. I’d shave my legs and do my makeup well. I would be perfect. But I was never perfect. I was never who I wanted to be. I tried to be like other people, tried to channel people who I considered to be “cool.” I wanted to be able to be myself, but I didn’t have the slightest idea anymore who exactly that was. I didn’t even think like myself, I literally thought about myself in the third person.
And no matter how hard I tried, I could never shake this weight off my shoulders. I was terrified that I’d live my life feeling this way about myself, but deep down, I always knew that I would.
