No matter how hard I try, I can never be perfect. I will never have the perfect hair, weight, or height. I can never be a size 2. I will always be who I am. Why do I even bother with change when I know that it's impossible?
I can't tell you that I've never hoped for the perfect life. To be the center of attention, have everyone just love me, to have blonde hair, to look like a model.
But I've just come to see that I don't need that. So what if I have brown hair? Why do people care that my clothes aren't from Aeropostale and Abercrombie and that I don't wear skin-tight mini-skirts? What's it to them if I'm not caked in make up?
Society has made me hate the way I look. But I've gotten through it because some things are more important than designer clothes and perfect hair. Love. I love my family. I love my friends. I love my writing. I love my life. I love myself.
Most of the time. Some days are worse than others. Some days I do want to come home and cry and sometimes I feel as if all hope is lost. But then I see that I am still young and that I can still change things.
And the Truth? There hardly is one anymore. Reality and Illusion have took it's place.
And I'm just in the reality of an illusion.