I keep dreaming that people tell me I’m pretty; or that they’re in love with me. Kevin’s friends, celebrities, old boyfriends, strangers, imaginary people. Over and over, it’s the same thing: I’m pretty, I’m beautiful, I’m wanted, I’m loved.
It’s no wonder I dream it, because I certainly don’t believe those things about myself anymore. I’m no longer curvy and sexy, I’m lumpy and unattractive. I no longer strut by a group of people with the knowledge that I have their attentions following me like so many strings... instead, I slump and hide - or don’t go out at all. I hate catching myself in the mirror.
I always had enough confidence for three people, at least. I had no idea my self esteem was capable of running away like this. I really didn’t.
Posted by nightingayle at April 23, 2005 10:46 PM