• It's so dark in here. I can only see myself, hear myself. I'm not screaming and I'm not afraid, because everything here in the darkness is so familiar. Someone would say this is my home, my true identity. I'm barely a human. And right now, I can only see my soul.

    It's not cold in here either. I feel nice and warm, safe and strong. Ready to defend myself, attack everyone and everything who laughed at me before.
    Before. Not now. They won't dare to laugh at me after this. They will look at me with amazement; ask themselves why they lauged at me in the first place.

    I actually like it in here, in the darkness. I can't show anyone who I am, and it gives me some kind of comfort. It means they can't see me either. It's kinda silly though; I don't like to be seen. It makes me feel so vulnerable. And in here, I feel safe.

    Suddenly, I don't want to wake up. In here I feel perfect, with no one to judge me, to tell me what's pretty and what's not. Finally, I can be myself.
    What will people say when they see me? When I wake up from the anesthetics? I suddenly realise what a terrible mistake I've made.

    I don't want to change into something else, just to be accepted. I want to change into somthing that can be loved, which I was before this surgery. Why didn't I see it before?

    I don't want to wake up and not be myself. But the surgery will be over soon. I will wake up, and I will change. But only on the surface, only my face. Here, in the darkness, I will always be the same. I will always be the hurt girl, the one who took the easy step and changed herself into something everyone can accept, but only a few can see past and love.

    And to the ones who can hear my soul whisper before I awake; be yourself.
    You're already perfect.