When I look at myself in the mirror I barely see myself. There is a huge disconnect between how I hope to look and what I see. I cannot believe that my skin is that bad. I can see the blackheads so clearly that in my mind don't exist. My hair hangs limp instead of curling in soft waves. In my daydreams I am perfect. I am the best me.

I look even more beautiful in my dreams than my sister. Than my mother when she was younger. I am the daughter that my mother can proudly show off to people.

Here when I stare at myself I see that my eyes are nice enough. But my lips are thin. Not the full bee stung lips that my sister has. My face is narrow and I always look worried. It detracts from any prettiness I might have.

All the world sees is this slightly frightened looking girl. Skinny rather than slim. Not short enough to be cute and short. Not tall enough to be striking. I am somewhere in the middle. Just like everything else.

My grades. My piano playing. My conversational skills. Average, average, average.

And the worst of it is that I work so damn hard to be where I am. Despite all the effort, I have never been able to rise above everyone else. For someone to stop and look and say, she's really good at that. I wish I could be like her. Instead I'm always wishing to be like...someone.

When I put on make up I feel some of that transformative power that all girls adept with brush, pencil and powder have. You can tell if you look closely enough, who needs makeup and who doesn't. The girls who without it would look ordinary, ugly even. And the girls who with nothing at all would still be pretty. I wish that I fell into the latter category, that what I have would be enough. Instead I know that without anything on, without the deception of another face people will pass me over.

With makeup on I've seen boys turn around to give me a second look. Felt the linger of someone's gaze as they check me out to see if I'm a type, their type. But I know that without it they wouldn't have looked, that if I were with them and I didn't feel like putting on my face for a day that they would suddenly see me, and wonder for a minute why they were with me. They would feel the same disconnect I do when I look in the mirror, the girl they remember from our last meeting is not here.

Therein lies the attraction to Scar. He saw me with no makeup. He saw me in my school uniform. He saw me at my most awkward. Most remarkably he saw me in the presence of my friends and he still saw me. How can I let go of a man who doesn't need me to look like anyone else. There is no artifice between us.

When I am with him I feel protected, I feel like I am enough. Because he has seen me and he will take care of me. When people don't hear me in shops, in restaurants; he repeats my order, what I want. And when I'm with him I stop being so invisible. I know it's unhealthy. Don't think I don't.

But how do you give this up? The power of being beautiful merely by association. Of being special because he chose me. I can't.