#appearance thoughts

[thinkingmythoughtsintothevoid]

The worst thing I did was start plucking the hairs on my face. It's definitely become compulsive in the same way as biting my nails and picking at my skin. Now I can't stand even a bit of growth without reaching for the tweezers.

Crazy that overgrooming is a thing: that I'm plucking my face for the same reason a stressed parrot plucks its feathers.

[grosvetements]

Going through my wardrobe right now and I hate how big all my clothes are. I hate how ugly all my clothes are. I don't have the money to buy my own things, so I should be grateful that I have a wardrobe at all, but I wish people didn't treat me like a doll. Like something inanimate to acquiesce to their decisions. Not like a person with her own desires for how she wishes to present herself and how she wishes to be seen. I go through life dressed in the tastes of my mother and father. I get made fun of in the senseless colours and the unflattering cuts and the nonsense sizes of what my mother and father choose for me. If I'm going to be ridiculed, at least give me the dignity of being ridiculed for my own choices.

I wouldn't be so upset if they wore ugly clothes themselves. But they don't. My mother wears silk tops with lace edging and big soft cardigans in sage and honey tones and youthful sweatshirts. My father wears simple yet flattering shirts, jackets, and cargo pants.

Not to mention their appearances. My mother is so beautiful, and my father is good-looking. But I can't look at myself and think the same things. I think my wide, flared nose is ugly. I think my fat lips are ugly. I think my bushy eyebrows are ugly. I think my acne and acne scars and the sallow tone of my skin are so, so, so ugly. My hair is flat and frizzy. My teeth are yellow and cramped. If I had nice clothes, I could at least hide in them. People would see that I put effort into *some* part of my presentation. But I don't have nice clothes.

An unimpressive body, an ugly face, and terrible clothes. Who wants me.