For a few hours on Thursday night, I looked really fucking beautiful.
I have to say it: I was stunning. It was undeniable. I was so beautiful, in fact, that it was traumatizing, even a little bit horrifying. I never expected to look like this. Truthfully, I actively didn’t want to. But there I was, looking so goddamn pretty, and loving it. Well, hating it, too. Hating it a lot, really, but still confident in the fact that I was more gorgeous than I have ever been in my entire life.
Only it wasn’t me. It wasn’t real. And it wasn’t how I ever wanted to be seen or thought of. I’m so glad I looked so beautiful on Thursday night. What I’m working on is being proud of it.