Dear Ian Somerhalder,
I don’t see it.
He say that I’m beautiful, or pretty, or gorgeous, or cute.
I don’t see it.
I am as average as average can be. There is nothing wonderful about me. The extremes always get the attention: you could be extremely attractive or ridiculously not, but if you are one of the two, then you will be noticed. If you are in the middle, you are as good as invisible.
And then I just get in this mood. I shut down. I do not want to talk, I do not want to text. I just want to stop, but I can’t just turn off my mind. Just bringing up something about my appearance, even if it is a compliment, makes me think of how I look and, wow, here come my own thoughts on how I look and they are truly negative and upsetting. But I don’t like those thoughts, because I will dwell on them, I always seem to if I don’t do what I normally do to cope: I shut down. Don’t socialize, don’t think, just do a trivial task and put all my attention into that instead of-
And there they are again.
And of course he asks if anything is wrong. I reply quickly with a, “Nothing is wrong”. He doesn’t believe me and persists. I insist that I am fine.
Fine, the most loaded word I know. The word with a million underlying meanings. The one word that means I am anything but fine.
But he notices my lack of smiles in my messages, the addition of the stern period at the end, the shortened sentences to show my lack of willingness to talk. Am I really sure nothing is wrong he wonders. A smile that over text he is unable to realize is a forced smile that more closely resembles a grimace, and a simple, “Nothing is wrong,” repeated once more. And of course it is a smile and, “Okay, I’m glad,” that he ends with, for I will not reply back after this.
I would prefer you do not talk about my looks. I am aware that you think I am pretty or hot or beautiful or anything else; I said thank you already. But I do not think I am that way, so I would appreciate it if we could avoid the topic altogether. I would appreciate it if you would avoid me altogether when I am like this; I wish to be alone and that is all.
He is sweet and handsome and wonderful. But there are so many things I do not like about myself, the list goes on and on; I am ashamed of it’s length. And that is merely the list that refers to my appearance. Please, just let me think how I think of my looks and you think how you think of them and we never need to share those thoughts with each other.
Ian, you are an incredibly attractive man. Do you know this? Did you always know this?
I have a feeling that everyone at some point doubts their attractiveness, but that doubt seems to be following me a little more closely that it might with other people it feels like.
If you ever did feel this way Ian, how did you shake it off and move forward? Any secret tips you can give me so that I can look in the mirror and see someone I think is beautiful, is pretty, is gorgeous, is cute?
I want to believe him, and I do believe that he sees me that way; I just wish that I saw me that way.
Reflected green eyes staring back at me through the mirror,
You don’t know me even half as well as you think you do. You haven’t seen me at my very, very best yet. But you also haven’t seen me at my worst.