All my life I have felt that no one truly know me; therefore, no one really loves me. It sounds like an angst-y teenage outlook on life but it has been true at times. Part of it has always been me. I wear the mask of a perfect young lady: put together, stylish, good grades, pleasant manors, always smiles. Most of the time that mask was a horrible lie. It is my fault some people couldn't get in, I kept them out. However, there were also people in my life that projected a mask onto me. They wanted me to be that perfect daughter, that precious thing, that bragging right and were not interested in WHO I was. 

Somewhere along the way I decide the part I was hiding was too dark, too dirty, too black, too ugly, too fat, too worthless to be loved. I decided that no one would love me if they saw and it became vital to protect that. I would get furious when my parents tried to say they knew me. I would sob when I broke up with boyfriends after they said, "I love you." because I knew they only loved the idea of me. For years I truly believed no one thought of me when I wasn't in their presence. I thought the people who did things for me, did it out of charity and because it was the right thing. I never had friends. I mean, I did, but I alway thought, "If they knew, they would hate me." 

So I hid and I hid and I hid until I found people I didn't have to hide around. People that saw my black ugliness and still said "I love you" at the end of the day. People who saw me evolve into my inner monster and then place my mask over it and would still hug me. It was foreign. It was scary. It was wonderful. 

Being worth something. Knowing you are worth something. It makes the mountains smaller. It makes it easier to look in the mirror without intense hate. It makes it easier to try to find something to love about yourself.