I've always hated shopping.

Ruffling through cloth hangers, and skimming through coarse fabric like I skim through textbooks five minutes before the exam... colours clash into each other as I pick from pastel shades.

That skirt's too short, people will call me vulgar. That gown's too long, people will call me prude. Ripped jeans, no, people will say I show too much skin. Hoodies are too baggy, crop tops too revealing...

Oh, that's a cute frock.

I've always hated clothes' trial rooms.

Mirrors facing each other, multiplying my disgusting body to infinity in their reflections... brown melding with milky white stripes as I strip off my baggy clothes.

That belly's too bloated, people will call me fat. My chest's too large, people will call me profane. My arms are covered with cuts, people will call me crazy. My eyes are muddy and misaligned, my teeth a stale shade of yellow...

I look terrible in that frock.

I've always hated my body.

It doesn't matter what frilly flowery frocks I wear. I'll look ugly, no matter what. I sometimes fantasize if I could ever look pretty, but whatever I do will never be enough.

Nothing will be enough.

People want me to be anything other than who I am.
They want perfection.
That's the one thing I can't achieve.

I've always hated shopping.
© Hyde