When the curtain closes.

I wake from my depressing dreams to retrieve my depressing reality. 

I shower and dress myself. I throw my hair, straight from last nights self pampering session, into a perky, sassy pony tail at the back of my head, bobbing as I tweeze away the excess hair on my eyebrows. I illustrate mascara on to the canvas that is my eyelashes and carefully scribble on my pink lipstick. I dab on my foundation, colouring my skin and cemoflageing the red, bloody pimples on my forehead until they are almost unnoticeable and I tone my cheeks slightly. My morning beauty ritual takes nothing more than 20 minutes but I usually spend another 10 staring into the mirror in horror, upset of what I have become and how hard it is to change. 

I may be beautiful but I'm only half way as pretty on the inside. I used to be a horrid person and I'm only half fixed. It's an up hill battle that's hard to win but I will be a better person. I guarantee.  Although this person I am now, she is not me. I recall a time when I was an inconsiderate, greedy, heartless person. Lately I've been more me though, but it's not enough. It's still not me. Everyday I put on an act. I ask people how their day has been and I am genuinely nice but I have a terrible habit of not being able to forgive myself. As the curtain closes every night, I lay in bed as vulnerable as ever, overthinking and over heating as I lay, half exposed from the blankets. 

My heart aches and I feel unworthy of forgiveness because I was a merciless little problem. I am not her, we just look alike.