A woman shared how being ugly is painful and she had been made fun of over her whole life.
Here is the story
Being an ugly woman is so painful.
My whole life, people have gone out of their way to inform me they don’t find me attractive. I’ve barely had one boyfriend, and that was nearly 15 years ago.
The only man who ever slept with me told his friends (I found out later) he “didn’t know what was wrong with him” for being into me.
In school, I walked into class to find all the students gathered around something they were trying to hide from me, which turned out to be a giant message that said “[my name] is ugly.”
I’ve never been told I’m pretty, and the only two people to ever call me beautiful were clearly saying it out of pity.
In the rare event someone complements my looks, they always sound surprised or caveat it with “in spite of your strong features…”
One vivid memory is walking into a bar to meet up with friends and a man looked me dead in the eye and said “Damn, nothing but ugly girls here tonight.”
That same man tried to hit on me at last call, and only spoke to my chest. He wouldn’t even look me in the eye, like I wasn’t even a person to him.
When I was younger I was set up on a few blind dates, and the look of disappointment in their faces upon seeing me is something that has made me hesitant to ever go on dates again. Not to mention the times I’ve been stood up.
I have wept to family and friends about being ugly, and no one has ever corrected me; all they say is “I’m sorry.” Even my own mom, when I asked her as a kid if I was pretty, said, “Some people just have to do the best with what they have.”
I look at all my friends with their happy families and children and despair for the life I wish I had. I’m a decent person; I’m smart and funny and loving, I’m good with kids, and have a solid career, but the painful realization that love will never happen for me because I don’t look a certain way is almost more than I can bear.
Life is so incredibly, painfully lonely. I live alone, and it’s hard most days to see the point in continuing on in a world where no one seems to think I have any value. I dreamed for years that I would prove them wrong, but now, as I reach a childless, solitary middle age, I have to concede that they were right.