No. The ugly was old insecurity, one she’d fought off for years and thought had laid to rest, an insecurity that maybe she wasn’t enough. Maybe she’d never be enough. Maybe anything she did wouldn’t make a difference. She loved too much, trusted too easily, got hurt too often, and maybe she needed to harden herself. But she would lose the essence of who she was if she did, and so she never did. Feeling hurt was more acceptable than feeling dead. The ugly in her head got awful.
