Self love.
Two words that are practically foregin to me.
I have never been known to love myself.
Someone is always better.
Thinner.
Smarter.
Prettier.
Always comparing myself.
Always self loathing.
I wanted to be better.
Thinner.
Smarter.
Prettier.
So I stopped eating and I stopped going out in public with no make up on.
And I pretended that I knew about all of these different places and things; even though I really had no interest in those things or places.
And I would go home and cry and I started leaving scars on my beautiful, clean skin.
Because no matter how much make up I put on my face,
Or how many days I went without a bite of food;
Or how many things I pretended to know;
I still wasn't better than someone else.
There was still always someone better.
And now I look at the body that I destroyed.
And my skin isn't beautiful and clean anymore.
And my teeth are stained yellow from all of the cigarettes.
And my eyes have dark circles under them from the nights I spent crying;
Trying so hard to be perfect.
And that's okay.
I am finally okay with not being perfect.
I am ready to love myself.