My complete lack of self-esteem.
My insecurity in relationships and in myself.
My inability to trust.
My black and white thinking.
My sadness inside my happiness.
The pit in my soul that is never filled.
My hatred of mirrors.
My second guessing of everything and everyone—-
I didn’t choose these things.
They made me. They envelope me.
They consume me.
I camouflage them in smiles and nice things,
hoping no one will notice the bumps and bruises.
But where do they end and I begin?