Not this kind of hives...
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Today I got hives. I got a big honey of a welt on my face. As for you, dear devoted reader, you will remember that it was only one short week ago that I had crazy dry skin that I rubbed olive oil on. I can’t help but ask, “What the Efff, Skin?!”
My only conclusion can be one that has genuinely taken me all my 26 years to realize. I manifest my stress completely externally. I don’t freak out and over think things (well, not too much anyway). I don’t get stomachaches from stress. I’m a stress eater. I get shoulder aches, pimples, and hives. Sometimes, I get that shakes and insomnia. I usually convince myself that I’m actually getting sick, or lifted something heavy, but it’s stress (I may be Wonder Woman, but it doesn’t mean it’s easy) I do not like my lack of control over these physiological effects of my stress. I think I would rather be a nail biter or something than what I got going on. I can’t sacrifice my beauty!
Any pink tones pop on my face like it’s in 3D (that’s a joke, people… because my face is already in 3-D. Get it? No? Okay). I had a very troubling day because I doubted my own beauty because of my hives. I don’t like lacking confidence. It’s not just superficial; it’s like an inner-beauty thing. I know that I’m incredible and beautiful. I just doubt myself when I let my inner turmoil become outer problems. I say, “let” because some delusional part of me thinks that I can control this stuff. My genius mom told me to take a Benadryl and go to bed. God bless Dr. Mom.
I am the beholder of my own beauty. I determine my own worth. I shouldn’t let other people’s beauty ideals dictate my own. This, however, does not change the fact that I feel like I have leprosy on my face.
Today gets 1 Barbie Warhol:
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