She hadn’t really looked at herself in the mirror for a long time. She knew what she looked like. Every attribute, flaw was seared in her mind. Yet, she never just looked at herself in the mirror. Because, inside she knew she didn’t want to. She was scared of a truthful reflection. Yet, something strange happened, captured by a fleeting moment of curiosity, she took the plunge. Paused in an entire stillness, she really took a good hard look at herself. That bright, youthful glow in her face had dimmed. Upset by this, she held her face with a slight firmness-in wonderment of what she had done to herself. Closing her eyes to take a moment, she posed some questions: could I look at myself any longer? Would it hurt? Could I handle this?
Her skin looked tired, worn out. Everything she had been through was transparent, she was wearing it on her face. Her hair: unkempt, uncared for. Her beautiful, luscious, brunette hair had lost all its life. Passing her fingers gently through them once, bouncy, natural curls; the sheer number of grey hairs became apparent. Looking deeper, she finally noticed her eyes. Her eyes, were her asset. They were expressive, soulful, always giving everything away. What were they saying now? They were glazed over. That distinctive brown hue had become numbed. They were screaming, who are you? There were no more tears. They had dried out. The suffering had surpassed its only mode of relief.
Stroking her palm in a self-comforting manner over her heart, she noticed her top. That
top had become too familiar. It was all she wore. Straight out the wash, it was
on again. It was her favourite. It was comfortable, loose, baggy. It hid her figure
away. It hid that part of herself she despised. Hiding it away meant it wouldn’t hurt
her- there was just a little less pain in her life. It wouldn’t bring her
failure to herself, to the forefront. In feeling the worn-out material, her
mind cast to the closet she hadn’t visited for a long time. All them different
pieces. All the things she had collected over the years. The different layers
of her personality were imbedded in her closet. But, she couldn’t wear any of
that anymore. She felt like she was forcing herself, to be something she wasn’t.
She couldn’t live up to that image. She was exhausted. Tired.
Everything from the past, was running in a constant loop of cruelness in her mind. Amongst all that critical noise, she still never thought she looked that bad. She finally admitted, living life had taken its toll. In the process, the struggles, she stopped taking care of herself. She wasn’t the priority. She wasn’t lazy or too busy. But, she just didn’t see any justification for it. Why was she required to have pride in her appearance? Keeping up with the outside wasn’t going to change how she felt on the inside. No matter the perfectly polished exterior, it wasn’t going to do away with that all- consuming black hole that ran deep inside of her, existing in her core. It was committed, her only companion, never leaving her side. She shook her head with an unquestionable certainty. She couldn’t bear wearing a mask anymore. At least, she was this honest with herself.
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