...chuckie...

I'll never forget one of the first things I thought after I got in my second car accident over winter break.

I looked in my rearview mirror and saw blood starting to drip from my forehead, and as I got out of the car and watched it flow down the door, I thought to myself, 'I've done it. I was never physically beautiful, but my face was all I had and I just destroyed it. I am so ugly.'

Even before I got to see how bad it was or would be, I knew no one would want to look at that day in and day out, I'd be alone forever.

All day, with each stitch, the painful thought of losing the only remotely appealing thing about me set in deeper. You know you always hear people say, well at least she has a pretty face.

I don't have that anymore.

And I think about it a lot, wish a guy could look at me and just fall in love, but it won't happen. I'm damaged goods. And despite the scars telling the story of what I've been through, people still think it's okay to joke about. My life isn't a joke.

Today at work, Justin walked up to me and said 'Stop,' and I asked him why and he replied with, 'Ramon says you look like Chuckie so I wanted to see for myself.'

I liked Justin. And recently, I thought Justin may have liked me too.

But that really hurt my feelings.

I can't take back what has happened to me.

And I couldn't take back or stop Ramon calling me 'Chuckie' all morning, even after I begged him to please stop. He has no idea how much that hurt me.

I don't want to be ugly. I don't want to be nicknamed after a doll with a destroyed face.

I want to be beautiful.

I'm trying to be beautiful.

I have to be beautiful to find someone to love me.

I have to find someone to look at me and want to know where these scars came from and love me for making it through instead of ridiculing me over them.

Is that someone out there?