There were days where she simply couldn't stand it, where it felt like her mind was crashing down on itself. Days like this she didn't want to get out of bed, didn't want anyone to look at her, all she wanted to do was lay in the darkness and pray that she wouldn't have to come out again.
Today was a day like that, and she could already tell this was going to last for a while. She covered the mirrors and turned off all the lights, curling up in her bed and hiding herself among the pillows and blankets before closing the curtains of her four poster bed.
She couldn't stop the endless stream of thoughts that pointed out every imperfection, every little clue that said she was not what she wanted to be. The too rough skin, the thin lashes, the too harsh jaw line, the too big hands, not thin enough waist, no curves — not a woman.
Here, alone in the darkness she didn't have to expose herself to the shame of being seen, Here she wouldn't have to listen to the sounds of everyone telling her she was wrong — or the lies of those who told her they believed her. Besides, it was probably better that she was alone, it would prepare her for what the rest of her life would be.
No man wanted someone like her, she should've learned that long ago.
She buried her face down into her mattress, trying to ignore the tightening of her throat and the feeling of tears welling up in her eyes. She'd never asked to be like this, and if she'd had a say then she wouldn't be. It was a cruel fate and she wasn't sure what she'd done to deserve it.
She was trapped like this for eternity, cursed to spend every moment of her life in skin that she didn't want and to never be seen as she was supposed to be. She would never have the rest of dying and knowing that it was over, instead she would have to be reminded day after day that everything about her was so wrong.
The thought made her heartbeat speed up and her shoulders shake, she couldn't possibly spend an eternity like this — not like this. Being trapped in her own skin, unable to make anyone understand, it was her own personal hell that she'd been allotted.
Most days she could pretend that it wasn't true, just give herself hope that deep inside she knew was completely pointless — it was the only way she could keep herself from completely falling apart. Of course there were still days when reality would stare her in the face and remind her of its very real presence, and that she had no way of escaping.
Perhaps it was cowardly, or perhaps it was just pathetic, but when reality made itself known to her all she could do was lock herself away and pray that it would be over soon. She would bury herself here in the darkness, away from eyes that felt like they were burning marks into her skin and lips that would speak words that cut like razors, keep herself away from everyone until she could force herself out of the darkness of reality again and go back to her foolish hope.