And I caught myself, and I almost started to cry

Beautiful,

I worked my whole life to be beautiful. That’s all I ever wanted. To be as beautiful as I am right now,

I starved myself for it. I put my body through tremendous stress my entire life to be perfect

I worked on my stance and face and skincare. I make sure there isn’t an ounce of hair on my body. And I spent years watching the women who I thought were the most beautiful, adopting their mannerism, style, hair even their fucking handwriting and the way they chewed on certain words

And I had done it. I’m undeniably, mesmerizingly beautiful.

But I was still on the bathroom floor at 4am, have some sort of panic attack.

Beauty was what I worked so hard for. Beauty is what I thought would make life easy, would make me better.

I wish I had wanted to be the smartest, the most successful, the most hard working, the most charitable, the wealthiest

But I don’t even have the empathy to understand who would want those things more, and it pains me that I don’t feel that way, that my ambition and spirit was drawn to the vain

It pains me the way being in love pains me. Longing is pain.

I wish I could sit here, now high in my bathroom at 4am, and say that I’ve changed.

It’s still beauty.

I would let beauty destroy everything else around me.