When people ask me why I'm so down lately, I don't have the heart to tell them. It's as self-centred as it gets, I know, but I can't really get past it. It's the strangest thing. But it hurts even more now. It's really... stupid. Like me, as you know. The stupid freak. But this morning, my mom's all "Why are you taking so long to get ready? You're turning into your sister!" Yeah, mom, like that's gonna hurry me along. If you knew me, you would know that sometimes, especially lately, I wish I could turn into my sister. Main reason being: she's beautiful. I wish I was.
It's just not that easy. It's one thing for people to tell you you're beautiful, and another completely to feel that way. I don't feel pretty...
So I make myself up. That's probably why it's called makeup - you put it on to play pretend, like you played when you were six. Pretend was a fun game, because you could be anything you wanted to. You could be a firefighter-princess-dinosaur-professor-d
Now, though, I find myself thinking that I don't wear makeup just to play pretend. It's that, sure, but it's also because I have something to hide. It's more than the odd blemish here and there, or a red splotch standing in the way of a perfect complexion. No. It's that I try to compensate for the fact that I live in the primped, hairsprayed, sparkly, dazzling shadow of my gorgeous sister. Insecurity. I think it's that I hope that maybe, if I was pretty, people would pay more attention to me or at least start to move away from that smart one/pretty one comparison.
My mom calling up the stairs and asking me that today made me think about why I use the stuff in the first place. Now I know.
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michelleroni- michelleroni