The appearance of my own body is cut and dissected every time I breathe. My horror of beauty is not when Im laying on the bathroom floor, but when Im staring at myself, wondering whats underneath the painted-on feelings and made-up eyes. Im not a fukking beauty queen. When I walk into the bathroom, Im not getting pretty.. Im destroying myself. Repairing myself from the damage Ive done. Whether YOU like it or NOT. The ceiling of fear crashes down on me when I pick up the latest fashion magazine and find that no one else looks like me. But what is ME? Where has the word "real" gone to? Maybe reality is blond hair, plastic body parts, tan skin and porcelain teeth? I think its sweaty skin, smeared lipstick and a big mouth, being afraid of nothing and truly LOVING yourself without BEING someone else. The vanity sanctuary will keep me safe and you can try to break me down but youre only hurting yourself, just like your supposed to be doing.