"There was 2 girls on the bus to Macy's one day. The bus hit a truck. They both died in the crash. Once in hell (and a bit annoyed to be there) they asked the Satan

"How do we get out of here, Mr.Lord of Darkness?!?" Satan realized that they were not really evil enough for hell so he said "Well okay chicas you can blow this joint if you shake hands with the ugliest thing imaginable."

So, one girl went and shook the hand of this ugly THING, but she did not get out of hell. Frustrated, she went to find her friend. Her friend was shaking hands with a small, cute, little bunny "what you doing?!” said the girl to her friend “That’s not ugly!" Her friends looked up but then the sweet little bunny spoke instead.

"She's not shaking my hand . . . I'm shaking hers! ...I wanna get outa’ here too!"

What is it like to be ugly? I think everyone feels ugly some of the time, but what if you are ugly looking all of the time? Sometimes I’ll see a really ugly person, with a deformed face or burns over half their body. I know it’s wrong but I cringe. I don’t think I could spend every day around a person with half a face. I don’t think I could fall in love with a person whose looks frightened me. From what I was taught in school I’m supposed to see the beauty inside…but instead I wait for the person to leave and breathe a sigh of relief. I think most people do this. I try to fight it but it is too ingrained in me.

I can’t help but think about the impact my appearance has on every interaction I have with people. I wonder if I would have been more popular or given more opportunities, or just felt better about myself if I was better looking. I wonder if I would have been more resourceful, perhaps more depressed, or even more bitter if I looked less normal.

Some of the time I’m able to not care about my looks. It’s not that I think I look good—but I just like being me, I like my uniqueness my face is like a stamp, no one else has it, I own it.

I don’t know why I get so down on myself some of the time. But often it has to do with rejection, or thinking about what I might be missing out on in life. It also comes from a sense that the things I have always dreamed of may never come true.

When I was 16 years old I went to the doctor’s office. I was about 4’11” then, the doctor asked me how I felt about my height. I said that I didn’t like being short but I knew I’d still grow. The doctor asked how much I thought I’d grow. I said “oh about a foot” –then the doctor and my mother just burst out laughing. I wanted to cry (I did in the car on the way home and all that night.) It had never once occurred to me that I would always be short, (or ugly)

When I realized that I was ugly I got rid of all of the pretty things I owned. I didn’t want to be a ugly girl in an pretty dress—I had the sense that people just laughed at me when they discovered that I thought of my self as a princess, that I thought I was pretty or likeable, that I thought I’d grow to be 6 feet tall.

Why add insult to injury? Why make a fool of myself? I threw away everything that I owned that was pretty. I changed to black jeans and plain blue button down shirt and boots. I did the best I could not suggest any expectation on my part that anyone who met me should see a princess.

But dreams never die. Mine are strangling me, vivid as ever.

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