At some point early in my life, I lost the feeling of contentment I had always taken for granted. I think it was around fourth or fifth grade, I realized no boys liked me and while others around me thrived and fit in, I realized how invisible I was. I was unfortunate looking, tall and painfully thin, pale and freckled, with a weird paige boy haircut(what was I thinking?) and a high forhead. It’s lame I suppose to recount this, because others have suffered so much more during their adolescence.

When I started to realize that people looked at me that way, that I was seen as unfortunate looking, I wanted to change and not be so awful looking. I thougtht that being a little easier on the eyes would make my whole life better.

I’ve always been a lover of the pet project, of the self improvement book. I always am trying to work on something. This month I’m trying to become more flexible(splits please?). When I was a preteen leading up into my teens, my project was changing myself, trying to dress normaly(not all the baggy nature clothes I wore as a kid), act normal, look better, look like someone people didn’t relegate to the backs of camp and class photos. I wanted to be seen as something rather than nothing. I know that’s shallow and awful, but so is realizing in eighth grade that no one has ever liked you or had a crush on you, those things little girls always want to happen.

I guess I wrote all that down, because I don’t feel ugly anymore. People don’t ignore me like they used to. Guys like me, and I like the way I look, but I’m not happy. I thought if I could look less unfortunate, then I would have to be happy. If I felt pretty, how could things not go my way? How could I not feel like I had so much to live for? I’m not happy. Looking okay doesn’t make me happy, it doesn’t give me peace or open up any magic doors for me.

I would go back to being that ugly girl in 3rd grade that everyone made fun of if only I could get that kind of peace back. The peace of being oblivious and content with your life, instead of being filled with this wanton need for…something….something that would change my situation, although if the past is any kind of indicator I guess there really isn’t anything that will change that feeling.

I hate myself for believing this, for ever caring about how I looked, but it’s how I felt and how I feel now.