The Reflection

They're all pretty. They all have the perfect bodies. Their hair is mussed and their scarves are awry but they look perfect all the time. I catch my own reflection in the mirror and grimace.The girl sitting next to me at uni is just so pretty, I'm feeling lecherous.

I've always had a problem with how I look. I don't consciously think of it every single waking moment, but I wonder sometimes what it must be like to make heads turn. To be beautiful, pretty even. To be able to mesmerise with just the way you wear your hair or do your makeup.

I can't even stand myself without what K used to call 'black shit'. I don't even recognise myself without it.

The gym is every guy's dream. Women stripping naked and heading for the shower. And everybody's perfect. Sometimes I wonder if I'm in some weird little Stepford Wives-esque place. It's not helping my self-esteem.

It takes me so long to feel comfortable being naked with someone. It's just so painful to have to admit to another human being that you have flab. Even if I lose weight, my body structure is just made to make me look like a walking elephant. Nothing helps. I'm getting more annoyed at the gym.

I've learned, made a conscious attempt to like myself and I'm getting there. I have respect for me, and I like me, but some days I wish I was pretty. That facial hair, flab and a big nose would be someone else's nightmare, not mine. Some days I wish I could walk into a bar and be the one the men wanted to talk to rather than the Asian girl with the hot White one.

Then I catch myself in the mirror again and I know it's not going to change and I'm getting used to it.