I wish I felt as if I could bare my skin as easily as I bare my soul; to let myself show myself as who I feel like and not as who others see me as. I wish I could see myself as something more. Something more than the imperfections and blemishes and soft spots I see in the mirror – something more beautiful. All I know is I am tired of disappointment; the self I see in my head is so much more than what reality reflects back to me in the brash lighted glass. I want to see those around me and no longer be envious of what I do not have – but recognize what I do. But can I ever accept myself, my imperfections of body and heart, as the inescapable truth of my existence? Is there anything that will soothe the pain of my own unbearable unworthiness that can dim the spotlight of my self-imposed judgment? If my skin and body were, instead, a more beautiful thing in my eyes would my heart still ache so badly? I wish I knew what it was like to see myself as someone who deserved the love of others; someone who could look herself in the mirror without averting her eyes in disgust at her own image in the light. Instead I turn off the lights – close my eyes to the inescapable truth that I can no longer bear to see – and smile as though I know I am beautiful. Smile so know one knows the pain that I feel when those around me cannot see. And when the pain is too much, when the tears I hide behind laughter finally overwhelm me and I can no longer hold them inside – when the anger, and disappointment, and fear, and disgust can no longer be contained – when the pain is too much to hide - I know that my silent tears will not be heard.