Early on in life I understood what beauty was. It was gifted to me in my artistic ways of appreciation. I appreciated every sunset. How the little droplets of morning dew and how they glowed early in the morning. How my street would steam after a hot summer’s rain. Beauty is everywhere and in every form.

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As a child, I always knew I was a bit off. I’m the youngest of 3 children and the only girl. I constantly felt like the odd man out, not only in the family but also in my peers. When I was in 3rd grade my best friend from before I could remember told me that she didn’t want to be my friend anymore and I didn’t take it too well. I remember sitting under the jungle gym at recess hiding my face because I was crying.

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I am a recovering addict. I’ve been sober for a long time now. In my recovery I have had to look back on all the things that I did while I was getting high and forgive myself for doing these things. Some of it was easy. Like forgiving myself for becoming a mean and nasty person because drugs were the most important thing in my life. Any drug addict is not very pleasant. There were things that were a little harder like telling my mom exactly how much money I stole from her to buy drugs. That took a bit more effort and work to achieve self forgiveness. Then there are some things that I don’t even like to think about. These are the things that still come up in my nightmares.

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I’ve been told during countless occasions how “beautiful” I was, and how I had “enviable” features: Heart-shaped lips and an “ideal” nose. Freckles and beauty marks meticulously placed near the most sought-after areas, and long, envy-worthy eyelashes - no curler required. People (family and strangers included) praised these physical attributes and gushed over how “exotic” and “retro” I looked. But, these were all niceties aimed at the neck up. Never once did they compliment me on my figure. 

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