Underneath, ain't we all just guts and teeth

Hey guys! I’m a pre-law student and I’m struggling horribly with paying for school. I recently started a Go-Fund-Me and I’m trying to get it out there. If you can’t or don’t want to donate, please at least pass it on. I just want to continue my education so I can work on making the world a better place. 

Please make the right choice next year, and in all the years to come as well. 

I’m not allowed to leave the house like this. If I come downstairs without a full face of makeup on, I’m told to go back upstairs and not come down again until I look “decent.” Foundation, eyeliner, mascara, eyebrow pencil, and blush, at the very least, before I’m allowed to be seen by anyone. My mom always tells me that I “look like hell” without my makeup, that I can’t expect people to want to interact with me when I don’t even try to make my face “presentable.”

After years of hearing this from my mother every day, I started to believe her. I decided that I was truly repulsive. That I really did need to cake my face with makeup in order for people to respect me. That no one would ever think I was pretty—how could they, when under all that makeup, I was so disgusting? My self-consciousness developed into outright self-hatred. I started cutting myself, carving words like “ugly” into my thighs. I haven’t worn a bathing suit in five years, because I don’t want my friends to see my humiliating scars.

A few months ago, I left home for my first semester of college. When you’re living with roommates, you really can’t avoid being seen without makeup. The first time I interacted with my roomies barefaced, and none of them exclaimed “holy hell, you look awful!”, I was honestly surprised. It dawned on me that maybe my mom was wrong. Maybe she was a little over the line in telling a teenager that she was too repulsive to be seen by other human beings in her natural state. After a few weeks, I started to leave my dorm without makeup. I realized that I could go to class, or get lunch, or meet up with friends, or do whatever I wanted, and never have to do a thing to my face if I didn’t want to. For the first time, I was in control of my own damn appearance.

When I went home for Thanksgiving Break, I got exactly what I expected from my mom: I came downstairs in my pajamas one morning, nothing on my face, and I was met with yelling about how I can’t expect people to want to be around me when I look like that. But now, I know better. I know I don’t have to believe her. So when I went back upstairs to paint my face according to her wishes, I took these pictures first. And then I put them on the Internet, for everyone to see.

This isn’t just a selfie to me; this is my way of saying, “I’m done letting you make me hate myself.” This is me declaring, “I don’t care what you say. I’m not ugly, or disgusting, or repulsive. I’m letting people see me without your precious makeup on. And you know what? I look just fine.”

The purest of evil