The Art of Being Ugly

I have been looking for old photos of myself for a slide show for our 10 year high school reunion. Fun, fun, fun. Apparently I was a pretty baby, I then became cute up to about age 9. That's the year I got glasses and by that time my hair (specifically my bangs) began to be routinely tortured by perms. No longer cute. The ugliness continued until about the age of 21. I think depression and my general sense of not wanting to be largely contributed to the ugly. Now, I don't want to sound like I'm challenging God or anything, BUT seriously...adolescence was a mistake, right? What an awful awful time. By grade 11, I had a firmly established friend group that were really really great. I didn't look good, but I felt pretty good.

I have been pouring through old photos and looking at my brothers when they were little. It makes me sad to think of things that they are now dealing with. I am also quite sad because they used to really like me. I feel loved by my family, but sometimes it would be nice to feel liked and understood. Ugly remnants have stayed and hardened me. I am not easy to know. I spew out facts, often without discretion, but manage to remain cold and reserved. I know it's not all my fault that things are the way they are, but I sometimes just really wish things didn't suck so much.