I cried until my head started to ache.
The kind of ugly crying where you gasp for air, and your pillow is so soaked with snot, mascara, and tears.
"Insecurities are so dumb," I sniffled, glaring at the ceiling. "Like why do they always come after us the hardest when we're teenagers? Like hello, we have zero clue what we're doing with our lives, and somehow figuring out if people like us or not. But nooo, insecurities are like…'let me ruin your self-esteem too.'
I laughed. Then cried harder. Then laughed while crying.
"It's like the pressure to fit in, look good, have perfect skin, a perfect body, be smart, funny, chill, but not too chill….it's exhausting. I hate this feeling. It makes me feel so… small. Like I'm never enough. Like I'm never… pretty enough."
At some point, my body gave up. I must've dozed off mid cry, as my face still pressed to my soggy pillow.
The next thing I knew, Dad yelled through the hallway.
