An epiphany

I’ve been struggling to find my internal self-worth for years, but never more than since the beginning of this school year. It’s a weird thing to describe, but basically I felt as if my character had so little worth that its was eclipsed by something as meaningless as my looks. How empty a feeling, to be but a vessel worth having a dick wiggled inside of it for 2 to 9 minutes (on a good day).

Recently I’ve entered a new mindset that may have been always obvious to everyone but me: I don’t have to constantly be sexualized. I don’t always have to look good, or even remotely attractive, or even somewhat fuckablish. Regardless of the effort I feel I need to invest to look good (whether I feel sufficiently attractive in sweats that day or need full face make up) — I really just don’t need to look good ever, not for anyone but myself.

I am not a thing to be looked at.

I find the strangest relief in the days I’m clad in blatant acne scars and glasses — days I feel unattractive. I’m less fearful, less subconsciously preoccupied with being on guard for negative reactions or with seeking positive ones.

I am a whole human, messy and lovely on the inside and on the out, and it would be fine if I didn’t look “good” at all, ever, whatever that even means. It’s fine if I feel like hot shit internally and want to look like hot shit externally; fine if I feel messy internally so I want to feel put together externally; fine if I feel messy on the inside and want to externally reflect that; even fine if occasionally I feel like hot shit so I want to look like hot shit so I can get laid — but I can’t let any reaction I receive ever interfere with my value as a person.

I have a natural state without eyes on the back of my head and make up on my face. My natural state is the peace I’m in when — because no one else is present — I know I’m making decisions solely for myself (what classes to pick, which friends to see, whether to do homework alone in my room in my bridesmaid dress — true story).

I have to embrace myself in my simplest, most unadulterated form — there lies my worth. I do not exist to be watched, to be judged, to be sexualized — I exist to simply be.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.