girloftheforest

I remember the first time I saw my nose in profile. I must h..

I remember the first time I saw my nose in profile. I must have been about 15. I just wanted to take a picture of my ear with a new earring. And then I saw it—a bumpy shape jutting sharply out from a small, rounded forehead. And that lower lip sticking out, the heavy double chin. A disaster. Since then, I’ve lived with the thought that I never want to see myself from the side again. I also began to think about getting a rhinoplasty. I love Greek noses—straight with a soft bridge. I dream of having one like that.

But today, for the first time in years, I looked at myself again. Nothing has changed since then, except for some added wrinkles and pigmentation from acne scars. And yet, somehow, I feel indifferent. No excitement, no acceptance—just a quiet, disappointing indifference. Back then, ten years ago, I hoped I would become someone else. But as time passed, I’m still me.

It’s so strange to look at myself and see an aging woman. No..

It’s so strange to look at myself and see an aging woman. Not a girl, not a teenager—but a woman. Now, in my face, I can clearly see how I’ll look at 40 and 60. Time flows so slowly, yet looking back, it feels as if it was never there at all. There is only the present. I’ll never be younger than I am right now.

It feels strange spending all this time at home, in solitude, but it’s as if I don’t want anything else, and I don’t have the energy for more. I wonder, are these 26 years really my youth? If youth is supposed to be the best years, then what comes next?

I used to love doing creative makeup. Now I wear makeup to fool time, layering powder to even my tone, to cover the bags under my eyes. But the result is almost laughable, like a modest fig leaf trying to cover too much.

Why this place? Maybe because I’m afraid. Because I want to ..

Why this place? Maybe because I’m afraid. Because I want to pour out all my thoughts, to expose my entire nature, however weak or flawed it may be. And I have this strange need for a kind of public openness—even if, in reality, no one actually reads it. I feel like a secret voyeur, hiding in a dark alley.

I’m also scared because when I see people I know openly writing about their pain or struggles, I feel embarrassed, irritated, uneasy—like I’ve witnessed something private, something not meant for others’ eyes. Sometimes I’ve even had the nerve to mock those feelings, not out loud, of course, but quietly to myself. And I dread that others might see me the same way. Worse still, I’m afraid they’ll respond with pity or sympathy.

In truth, I’ve always secretly envied people who are active on social media, who share all sides of their lives, embellishing, expressing, even seeking attention. I can’t do that; I’m too timid, too hesitant. But OnlyFans has this atmosphere of intimacy. So many people bare themselves here, literally, and together, they create a sense of harmony. Somehow, that makes it easier for me—like I’m exposing myself too, but in a different way.

Strangely enough, I was actually on OnlyFans a couple of yea..

Strangely enough, I was actually on OnlyFans a couple of years ago—purely to make some money. I posted a few suggestive photos with simple captions. I wish I could say, “It wasn’t for me” or “I’m above that,” but no. Honestly, I was just too lazy to put in the work—too lazy to post, too lazy to keep up conversations. I genuinely thought getting into med uni would be easier than running an OnlyFans page. And, for me, it really is. It’s easier to stick to a plan, to follow orders, than to try creating something on my own. That’s how lazy I’ve become.

And I’m ashamed of my weight. I get embarrassed looking at myself in the mirror. I never understood why. I see plus-size women online, I see my friends who are fuller-bodied—they’re gorgeous, they shine, they’re so stunning I can’t look away. But when I look at myself, all I feel is shame and pain. It’s like I can’t even see myself as a whole person—just fat, a belly, body hair. I want to scrutinize it, like bugs under a log, as something unpleasant. It feels like the issue isn’t the weight itself. It’s terrifying to admit just how much I don’t love myself, especially when I’ve built up this front of self-acceptance and confidence.

Incidentally, my previous account had the same name. When I deleted it, I didn’t even bother to withdraw the money. I was that sure of my future success. Or maybe I was just too lazy. Or maybe I thought I hadn’t really earned it.

Greetings, traveler! If you've stumbled upon my page, it's t..

Greetings, traveler! If you've stumbled upon my page, it's truly a wonder—there's no explicit content, no polished photos, no throngs of followers here. In fact, that’s exactly why I created this account. This space is for me. No one knows me here.

I’m 26 and still a student, with a degree in biology behind me and two years of medical university under my belt. I've always worked hard, making study and achievement my top priorities. Yet, despite my efforts, I've never been the best or even satisfied with my results. Recently, I became seriously ill and had to take a break from my studies. Now, at best, I won’t finish medical school until after I turn 30.

I’m 26 and have less than 100 euros in my bank account. I’m 26 and live with my mother. I’m 26 and have no hobbies. I’m 26, and to everyone else, I’m the determined, optimistic one—the unbreakable, dragon-hearted woman. But somewhere along the way, I think I cracked inside.

On the upside, I now have a year to face the emptiness, to search for whatever “self” there is to find. I feel no enthusiasm; it feels like even here, I’m bound to fail. But I still want to take small steps in the right direction. Here, no one knows me. I just want to try recording my thoughts, sharing photos of things I find beautiful. Maybe a selfie or two. I want to see myself as beautiful.

Sadness brings us to strange places.