they say it's a male thing.

I just thought about something today. Call me sexist, but I'm just going by personal experience. The idiot happened to be male.

I've always been insecure about how I look - they say it's a female thing. I notice when my fringe is the slightest bit greasy, I notice my spots and my not-so-perfect figure. I know I'm not the next Miranda Kerr.

This is kind of embarassing for me to admit, but I've always thought of myself as second class to some of the cute boys in the school. I've always put my plainness into perspective, sometimes over compensating for the fact that I've got spots or my eyebrows aren't perfectly plucked or it looks like I went swimming in a pepper mill if I forget to shave my legs.

My ex boyfriend, it occurred to me, was never plagued by these insecurities.

You may think from my endless heartbreak over dear old K that K must have been a real stunner - a Keanu Reeves/Brad Pitt hybrid, no less.

Not so.

K was tall, and too skinny - his arms were Auschwitz thin, and instead of a six pack he had all his ribs poking out, like a mummy. He was pasty, and not in an Edward Cullen way. He had heaps of spots - more than me. His hair was the unglamourous colour of sandy blond, cut in an unflatteringly short spikey do as to not irritate him during sport. When he did play sport he flushed, no joke, tomato red, making his eyebrows seem almost white. His legs looked like he had stuck instant noodles to them, and he ate like a half-starved pig.

Yes, this is the man that I've wasted about two years over. Needless to say, I have issues.

Okay, I know you think I'm being petty. Love isn't about looks. Okay, think about this. He was the most shameless flirt I've ever met, and I know myself, for crying out loud. He would say horrible things and then say that I was too sensitive for taking him seriously. And now, after all the pain he has caused a hell of a lot of people, he's wiped his hands clean. When he sees me he is completely devoid of apology or sympathy - in fact, his eyes are accusing, as if to say 'What did you do that for?'

But it never bothered him, how gangly and seemingly unattractive he was. It never bothered him how horrible he was - he never bothered to change because he somehow figured there would always be an idiot like me, a mess of a dreamer with the nerve to adore him, that he could play with. He was never bound by insecurities that seem to plague we the female sex - and this is keeping in mind that he could not abuse concealer like I have done during desperate acne rages. And he managed to get two girls to swoon over him as boys have never swooned over me, although I'm clear headed enough to see now that as plain as I may be I am leaps and bounds more attractive - physically and internally - than K was, is or ever will be. And yet girls love him and boys don't love me.

Why do I not set my sights a bit higher? Why is it when I meet a boy who doesn't seem like a jerk and doesn't have more spots than a ladybug I immediately conclude that I'm not good enough and he's never ever going to be interested? I should have more faith in myself, I know. But a lifetime of being threatened and coaxed and blackmailed into insecurity has had this effect on me. I hope you're happy now, those teachers who said it was 'for my own good' when they mercilessly hacked away at what self confidence I had when I was eight, because now I waste my time chasing heartbreakers who aren't even pretty. Or nice.

Insecurity is something that I think was pretty much forced upon me. I was a dapper little kid, and eight years in primary school completely wrecked that. Af the age of fourteen I have the self-esteem of a shoelace, and I hate myself for it. And I hate K for taking advantage of it.