All the blame on me. I am fat. I am thin. I have too many hair on my body. I have no hair on my head. I wear sweatshirts. I wear short skirts. I have blonde hair. I have black hair.
I mean, they have a problem with everything. Every single thing that defines me, makes me who I am, defines my individuality.
Why is it always about fitting in?
Why can’t it be sometimes be about standing out?
Why is it always about comparing?
Why can’t it not about the inside and always the outside?
Why can’t people understand that it’s not about how attractive the person’s skin is, it is about how attractive the person’s heart is?
I don’t have big, blue eyes, curly blonde hair. But hello! I exist and I am also a girl. I have acne like teenagers are meant to have, I am also like you…. But I am different in my own ways. What is the point of having different talents, different passions, different likes and dislikes when all you’re meant to do us blend in?
I have specs because it’s a necessity. I cover a distance on wheelchair because it’s a necessity. Who are you to tell me that I am disabled or that I am handicapped?
I am who I am. I have learnt to accept myself, so it’s better that you accept my flaws too. You have no right to point out my flaws, like I don’t already know that they exist. I might be imperfect, but I guess that once you have learnt to accept yourself then you’re imperfect in the best way because then, you’re unashamed to be imperfect.
There is no reason for them to pull you down. No reason to make you cry or make you feel uncomfortable in your skin. And no reason to make you doubt yourself.
In the end, the demons die. The depression finds it’s way out of the dark night into the perfect lit sky. And the nerves….. well they take their time to heal. And in the end the wounds, the sadness dies making the world bright and clear for me as well as the society.