I have a vision of the girl I one day hope to be in my head

She is strong, she is happy, and she is beautiful.

Somehow, when she wakes up in the morning, her face looks perfect without any makeup adorning it and her hair has not managed to transform itself into a lion’s mane of a mess.

When she laughs, it sounds like bells pealing, and somehow, even when she snorts from giggling so hard, it is received as adorable.

She is kind to everyone she meets; the kind of person who would search for days to find the owner of a lost wallet, who tells a funny story to a crying toddler until a smile breaks out on his face, and is essentially a superhero minus the cape and silly outfit.

Never alone, she is always out with friends or family and enjoying herself. She is the sort of person who radiates a natural light that makes everyone around her want to be someone within her circle, yet she is always open to whoever approaches.

When she smiles, which is often, it’s as if the sun is beaming happily from her face.

No matter what she tries on, she always looks fantastic. Dressing rooms do not terrify her; she ventures bravely into the little cubicle with whatever she pleases and grins at herself in the mirror every time.

She is thin and has curves in all the right places, including the most important one on her face. Her body shows that she is dedicated to the sports she does, but also that she is in extremely good health.

Always up for an adventure, she is forever travelling places and experiencing new things without any fear in her eyes. Her life, essentially, is picture perfect; she takes lots of photographs to prove it.

The girl I dream of being is not real.

The girl that I am wakes up in the morning and looks as though she’s just woken up from the grave. Her hair has managed to tie itself into the kind of knots headphones manage to work themselves into.

When she laughs, it’s the sort of laugh that inspires her to laugh even harder, which usually results in her becoming so engrossed that she ceases to make any noise and instead claps her hands together like a seal as she shakes with humor.

She is kind to everyone but isn’t afraid to tell others when they’ve wronged her, and never forgets to stand up for herself. She is human and she is flawed.

Sometimes she is alone. Her depression and her anxiety are sometimes, more often than she would like, the only company she keeps. Often she cancels plans or goes out of her way to avoid others because these mental illnesses have such a strong grip on her. But every day she chooses to fight.

When she smiles, it reaches her eyes.

She will never be a fan of dressing rooms and the way they’ve been lit by the devil. Sometimes things do not fit her, and other times they look so hideously ugly that only the unrealistically perfect girl who was Photoshopped to death in the magazine could somehow pull it off. She is self conscious but manages to face her fear.

She is strong and healthy looking. She embraces her cellulite and the fact that she does not have a body that has been manipulated and edited until it appears almost unrecognizable. Her legs are capable of carrying her on all the journeys she makes.

She is adventurous but not afraid to admit when she is scared. Sometimes she needs a supportive friend or an encouraging word or a comforting hug. Her life is the sort of picture that is marred by a finger partly across the lens; there’s great potential in it, but it is never exactly right. And she is okay with that.

Sometimes I want to be the other girl. I want to be the girl everyone dreams of being. The epitome of the ideal inside everyone’s head. The person others would want me to be.

But this is unrealistic. And instead, I must try to start learning to love the girl I truly am.”


2 thoughts on “Myself

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