Dear You,

I look in the mirror every day. Sometimes my reflection whips by in but a second. Other times, I slave away laboriously at beautifying my complexion. Why do I feel the need to stare critically at myself in mirrors? Sometimes I wish I never knew my appearance at all. It is foreign to me like my own feelings of self-confidence.

Almost a decade of my conscious life I have been dragging this weight comparable to shackles looped around my ankle. I constantly feel imprisoned because of you and the weight you keep adding on gradually every day. The weight inside of me awakened on a chilly Halloween night of my seventh year. I could almost taste the leaves and the smell of gutted pumpkins in the air. I shimmy into my soft, blue Cinderella dress to hunt for some Reese’s peanut butter cups. As I opened the door, she lifted me up into the air and plopped me down onto our lumpy couch. She proceeded to paint my eyelids in brilliant blues and plaster pinks on my sensitive, chubby cheeks. As the brush tickled my face for the last time she smirked and uttered three painful words. “Now you’re beautiful.” My mind came to a complete halt as my cheeks burned and my eyes watered. I was only a little girl. Why did she destroy my self-confidence so soon? Because of the occurrence I carry this weight that I would pay all of the money in the worked to get rid of it. A day in my life is briskly walking past darting gazes and glaring eyes. I focus on my long strides staring down at my beat-up black converse. The faster I walk, the more perfume seeps into my nose. The noxious scent of flowers intoxicates me but entices other. My differences compared to others are shocking. I saunter through the school attempting a brave face, but I fall short and my goal crashes back to Earth. I cannot do it. The glares and gazes from outside burn my shell so I crawl back inside. Welcome to high school. For this reason I constantly lose self-confidence as the makeup continues to grow heavier on my weary face. I grow tired of my monotonous routine in the morning. As my alarm clock jolts me awake, it is the start of the first race of the day. I trudge through my morning as the dreaded makeup routine approaches right before me. I eye the brushes cursing myself for using them daily. I begin to apply the cold and moist black liquid eyeliner in thin stripes to protect my gentle, blue eyes from their piercing gazes of judgment and scrutiny. I climb into my dark and edgy attire. I lace myself with my dark rose perfume to cover up my lack of self-assurance and I start my day as I put on my own personal invisibility cloak.

 To carry this weight, I must constantly hide; I will forever be known as the weird girl sitting in the corner of the room. I want you to understand that I have a voice. I want to be heard but in order to talk you must be sure of your words. But how can I be sure of anything when even I am foreign to myself. It takes a special person to hear my voice but only one person to catalyze this mess. She is beautiful. She was beautiful. She had natural beauty that she cast away at her own doing. She struts about with an awkward elegance with her stick-straight and straw-colored hair. She tends to her impeccable hourglass figure by eating “carefully” or rather lack thereof. She has altered her body to the point where I do not know her anymore. She exchanged her natural breasts for voluptuous silicone breasts that a man could get lost in. She sold her beautiful, fair complexion for tan, leathery skin. If she is unsure of her own body and self, then how can I? She of all people placed this malignant and growing weight on me. I am condemned to this insecure hell for life. I know that you have felt unsure of yourself as well since everybody honestly does at some point. I nonchalantly brush off negativity that in reality gets sucked back into my vortex of an impeccable memory. Once I decided to arrive at school adorned in a rainbow of an outfit that included knee-high striped socks with towering heels. This was a simple test to strengthen my self-confidence. However, this experiment failed epically as I awkwardly strut through the hallways of a place of my nightmares. My heels clicked against the tile as did the cameras of many phones. I practically sprinted down the hall as many a person laughed, pointed, stared, and even tripped me. I fell to the ground, crashing down from my high-horse. My books flew in the air as I scrambled to gather my things. My cheeks were permanently pink after that day. Without that weight I am positive that I would have had the strength to put on a brave face every day. I would even talk to you.

Now I feel I am ready to begin to slowly drop this massive weight on my self-confidence. A day will come when I break free from my chrysalis of conformity and lack of confidence and form into a confidence butterfly. By the way, makeup does not bolster my self-confidence, you do.

Sincerely with Love,

Allison Paige