My name is not important.
My story begins at a young age. I have always hated myself. At first, it was the little things. I hated my boring brown hair and yearned to be the beautiful blonde or the vivacious red head. I wished I could be shorter, I despised being a sky scraper among my peers. I wished my legs weren’t so hairy, I wished my hair wouldn’t curl at the ends. But these were minor things. I spent my time as an only child traipsing through the halls of my home while my neglectful parents tended to other things, more important than I. And […]