Ugly. Stupid. Useless.

You think the words enough that now they reverberate loudly in your head, continuing on in a terrifying, ringing mantra that makes you sick to your stomach. Everywhere you look – in the mirror, on the street, at school – you see the pathetic, disgusting part of yourself that you want to erase, and you see their gazes fix on you, damning you for not being good enough, or pretty enough, or strong enough.

The guilt at this imperfection tears at you, and there are times you want to slam your hands over your ears and scream so loudly that the echo whirling around you just STOPS. But it won't stop, and you start to lose that little bit of self confidence that you still cling to. You slowly start to give into that voice pointing out every little imperfection you have. The voice that reveals every little mistake that you've made.

You don't cry, because you don't feel worthy of those tears. Tears are for people who are good enough, pretty enough, and strong enough to carry on in a world that expects perfection where it can't be given.

Friends and family surround you, but you don't feel their presence. Not like you used to. Like those strangers on the street corners, their gazes turn sharp and accusing. You don't hear the kindness floating from their lips, because kindness isn't meant for someone like yourself.

You want it to just STOP, but you know it won't. So you withdraw, you consider how to end it, but then you thrust aside every thought entering your head. You're imperfect enough already, and any drastic measure you desperately want to take will only make you more broken in their eyes. So you'll carry on, you'll force smiles that hide bitterness and loneliness and every other weak emotion, and you'll try to stop feeling.

All for them, because you don't think you're worthy enough to try continuing only for yourself. Just for them, you'll pretend.