What happens when even family tells you you’re not beautiful?

I hate the way I view myself. I hate the fact that I feel like I should always be trying to improve myself and the way I look, because I am so imperfect. How is it that I can see the imperfections of other people as a form of beauty, but not my own? How is it that I can see other people as all with their own beautiful flaws, but not myself? Why am I always trying to search for perfection and beauty? Why can’t I be satisfied with my own looks?

For this I blame society. Media. Friends. Peer pressure, influence, speech, all of which affect me in so many negative ways. As a friend recently (or rather, always) told me, my skin looks terrible, I ought to do something about it, get something done about it. That I am ugly, and that I used to be pretty, and he asks, what happened to you? Why you look like that?? 

Why I look like that? 

Do you think that I’d WANT to look like that? Pimples all over my face? Fair as hell and looking like I’m suffering from leukemia?! (Which is what another friend just told me approximately about an hour ago) how is it possible for me to feel good about myself with people talking about me in this sort of manner? Even though I laugh it off in their presence and really try to smile… Deep down I wish I could just be a social recluse and hide from the world, so they’d stop labeling me like as if I were an outsider, a monster, one that’s too different from the rest of society and needs to be changed.
Why do they even think in these ways in the first place? Social perceptions in the media of what’s beautiful is always channeling what’s on the outside, and never something on the inside. I’m glad my bf is not like that, I know he loves me for who I am because he can take hideous photos of me and still love me. But I take a look at those photos and become disgusted at myself – disgusted at the monster that I am. I cannot even stand the way I look. I wish I was beautiful like all those other girls even though I know I am not, and my “pretty moments” are only when I have vast amounts of makeup on and barely look like who I am. 
I hate that I hate myself. I wish I didn’t think this way, but I do. I do. It’s the sad truth about this world, that we are all superficial creatures, looking for benefits for ourselves. Even in what we see. Nobody wants to look at ugly people. Nobody wants to have an ugly friend. Hell no. 
I just hope that I can see myself more positively. And find out what makes me beautiful, perhaps? To stop thinking about what imperfections I have but instead what my redeeming qualities are? 

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