Monstrosity
Feeling ugly is nothing new for me. Having to look in the mirror everyday and see the same awful face and body, always worsening–never improving despite the drastic and possibly physically dangerous measures that I take–is a cruel reminder of how fucked up my life is. Ok, yes, really incredibly overdramatic, I know. I know I am lucky in many ways.
Pair that with the another example of how stupid I am. awful, awful. What’s wrong with me? Why do I take everything out of proportion? why do I see what is clearly not there? How could I have possibly seen interest, affection when there was none? when I was so fucking ugly. But why did everyone except me know?
Am I causing myself pain? Is the blindness my own fault? Is it the deceit of others? How did I let myself become so weak? why am I affected by this?
I am a gardener with poor eyesight; I delight at the green growth that I am cultivating, but I don’t even realize that the garden is overgrown with weeds, rubbish–a whole lot of nothing.
To his flirtations, I say: Fuck you.
To my hopeful dreamy optimism, I say: Being crushed serves you right. Haven’t you learned anything from the past?
The Ghastly Girl
The Happy Huntley
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