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Every day, I see beautiful people around me. People with straight, pearly white teeth. People with skin as soft as satin and blemish free. They have everything in their hands, and they know it. Even I have to admit that beautiful people have the upper hand in life, because, hell, who doesn’t like looking at a pretty face?

My skin is disgusting compared to theirs. It’s spotted with scars. Trust me, scabies and a skin picking problem do not go well together. Now the scabies are gone, but the scars and scabs have been there for two years.

It’s almost as if God has decided that I will remain untouchable. Untouchable as in revolting. But I know that God wouldn’t do that. Everything he makes is perfect. We are the ones that destroy ourselves; and the way we see ourselves is also destroyed. I guess I destroyed myself. I destroyed my skin, my teeth, my waist, my body weight. I even destroyed my soul.

But today I decided to look at myself in the mirror and pick one thing that I liked about myself, something that my therapist used to tell me to do. I didn’t see anything. To be honest, in my eyes, my image is rotten, and bitter, and sluggish. And then I thought, “Hey, you know what’s beautiful? Your voice.” I didn’t care if I sounded conceited, I was just relieved when I found at least a trace of beauty in me. On my good days, I think positively about my singing voice, and sometimes I even find it beautiful.

And for now, I will hang on to that beautiful thing that is mine, the only thing that helps me escape from my self-pity. I’ll hang on to that thing as if it were a life jacket, keeping me afloat, and barely saving me from drowning in the sea of my flaws and mistakes. I will hold on to it, until it punctures because of the thorns that envelop my heart, and drags me back into reality, because I will realize that that beautiful thing was a lie, an illusion.
I am not beautiful at all.