Such an easy answer! My looks. 

I have, for most of my life, hated my appearance. My mum was a late-bloomer, and so was I, and it didn't help that I skipped two grades and started highschool when I was 12 instead of 14 so that my body was still a child's when other girls were becoming young women. I was a stick insect then. Other things that didn't help were my extremely poor eyesight which required me to wear glasses with coke-bottle lenses [thank god for the ultra-thin polycarbonites of today!], the braces on my teeth, and the fact that my parents refused to allow me to wear blue jeans, which were basically the school uniform of the 1970s. Add to that a school full of mean-spirited kids, an emotionally-abusive mother, and a sensitive soul, and you have all the makings of a girl totally insecure about her appearance.

The summer before I went to grade 13, I got contact lenses, and got the braces off my teeth. My father's sister talked to my mother and asked her what the hell she thought she was doing, sending me to highschool in homemade clothes, and dragged her to the store and bought me blue jeans - two pair! After that wake-up call, my mother made sure I was dressed stylishly, and bought me makeup and had my hair done nicely. Now I looked good and I knew it. I was 16 and the only problem was that boys wanted to touch me and I just wasn't ready. So even then I hated my appearance.

The only time I have been really happy with my appearance is between my first and second marriage. Randy as hell, slim, beautiful [yes, I can say it about myself], I moved to the big city, and every other weekend and every Tuesday night I had a home to myself. I knew I looked good and I wanted men to notice. In the space of a year and a half I only went home with two of them, and I married the second one. 

Now I'm fat, and homely and I hate my looks again. Will the self-torment ever stop? I wonder.