I curled my hair today to get that vintage hairstyle down. When I had the curlers in my brother came downstairs and said I looked gross. If any opinion about my appearance matter, it's his. When he went back upstairs, I wanted to cry because like usual, I wasn't good enough.

I took out the curlers but I fucked up the hairstyle. And all I could think about was how I'm afraid to try to look nice because I feel like I'm going to be judged more for it.

If I were to be honest, I always hated my appearance which is also why I would cover myself I'm hoodies that were way too big. I think I'm too fat and I'm stupidly short that I look like a 9 year old. My skin is too dark for my liking. My face isn't appealing so I cover it up with my shit ass hair. I constantly think about how I hate myself and that I wish I could be a different person.

If I was a different person, I would be good enough. I would matter to someone. I wouldn't have this feeling. I would be the girl everyone wants me to be. That light of the party happy go lucky girl who woild sit there and look pretty and be happy with that.

That's who I was before the depression hit, I've realized that. I was almost always happy and careless. When I wasn't, I was anxious. The anxiety was always there. Which is why I would sit and watch because I didn't have the nerve to go out and have the fun that everyone else was having. I thought they would make fun of me because I would look stupid. It wouldn't have been the first time. My childhood consisted of judging eyes. Which is why I started dressing like shit. Might as well play into what they thought. It was better than to look nice and be in pain.

I just want to be comfortable which is why I was so excited to start wearing the vintage style. It was a style I thought looked amazing and it looks comfortable and it would get me out of my comfort zone just so I would be comfortable with myself. But I keep forgetting that it takes time to get there. And that journey is so fucking hard.

I just hope I get there.