The ceiling of fear crashes down on me when I pick up the latest fashion magazine and find that no one else looks like me. But what is ME? Where has the word "real" gone to? Maybe reality is blonde hair, plastic body parts, tan skin and porcelain teeth? I think it's sweaty skin, smeared lipstick and a big mouth, being afraid of nothing and truly LOVING yourself without BEING someone else. The vanity sanctuary will keep me safe and you can try to break me down but you're only hurting yourself, just like you're supposed to be doing. I'll be dying in my makeup and you'll be dying without it