trapped in my reflection

diary entry from april 5, 2025

I was trying to get an idea of what I look like this morning by recording myself. That was stupid, it had the opposite effect. Now, I want to shed my skin and evaporate into the atmosphere. I’m not sure I’ll ever be comfortable in my own skin. Do people just live like this forever?

The way I perceive myself is apparently different from reality. Why does it even matter what I look like? Why is that so valuable to me? I am unable to detach from it. But for some reason, the way I am viewed by others is crucial to my wellbeing. Is this generational trauma? My mom struggled with the way she looked for as long as I can remember. One time, my aunt told her that vanity would kill her. To a degree, it did. It killed me a little bit too.

There is something so torturous about growing up around someone who hated the way they looked. Not only did she project her distaste for the way she looked onto me, but she would “give me tips to try and help me like the way I looked” … which again, had the opposite effect. Instead, I grew to hate myself, and that hate has been growing for 20 years.