I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.
Yes, you can.
How can I? All the dreams I had as a kid are gone. My life is so different from what I expected. I thought I’d be one way, that I’d have, do and be something and someone else entirely. I look at myself and don’t recognise me. I am lost.
It’s in the eyes, though. They say they’re the windows to the soul. They should be able to show what went wrong and why I made the choices I did. Maybe if I look into a mirror. Stare long enough, hard enough, something will happen. Maybe a light will go off. “Ting!” And I will magically have the answers to the questions that have been running around in my head with hobnailed boots.
I can’t.
I suppose when you’re told often enough that you’re not beautiful. That you’re not clever enough or witty and you don’t fit in, you start to believe those opinions and take whatever life hands you. Like the crumbs from a more deserving person’s table. I’ve seen plenty of videos and read plenty of books but the self-loathing is ingrained, like DNA. How to scrub it out?
What to do? What to do?
I sit in semi-darkness, there’s a lit candle behind me giving a soft glow. The bedroom mirror tilts at an angle. I see my face and try to smile. To tell myself 'I love you.’ But it feels false and the smile drops from my lips before it’s even made it to the corners of my mouth.
I can’t.
Come on.
The next day. Alright. I try again.
I look into my eyes this time. Hold…Hold…I blink and look away.
I can’t.
The next day comes and goes. Cursory glances in the mirror as I apply makeup and brush my hair. Remove makeup and moisturise. Brush the hair without looking at my face.
The following day, I put aside five minutes.
Okay. Deep breath. I smile, but it’s bogus. I stare into my eyes and they well with tears. Stifling the tears, I turn from the mirror.
I can’t.
The following day. As soon as I see myself, I begin to pick at my appearance like a crow on carrion. Look at your skin. You’re fat. Hair’s going grey. What’s up with your nose? Your teeth?
Let yourself go haven’t you? Was there really anything to hold onto? Could you, even if you wanted to? It’s an uphill climb. See the steep angle of the hill? The rocky path? There are boulders in the way.
Once more, look into your eyes. Try. Come on. Just once more. It can’t hurt.
Yes, it can. All I see are broken aspirations, pain and suffering. Where is the joy? I used to be so enthusiastic about life. When I was younger, even though I never felt I had direction, I drifted, I felt my life had purpose, even if it depended on someone else.
One more look. Come on girl. Where’s your moxie? Where’s the guts? Not guts. No glory.
Huh! All I want to do is make it through today. Where’s the glory in that? I’m impatient for improvements but I doubt that I can get back whatever I lost. I read something about jettisoning cargo and when you go to retrieve it, whatever still exists is so damaged, it’s not worth retrieving.
I hope. Somewhere inside me, hope lingers. It's a tiny spark but it is one, nonetheless. Yet, what is hope but the promise of something that may never come to fruition? I have to let go and move on. Accept myself just as I am. Even if loving myself is an impossibility. Accept myself. Accept. Except…The negative thoughts crowd around me. The voices in my head are wounds of the past telling me I’ll never make it- It’s impossible! Who knows? Maybe all the dreams I wanted when I was a kid are out of reach because I left it too late. But I can have new dreams and aspirations. I can forge a new path. If I can just accept myself as I am, with my scars and wounds and guilt. If I can get through the self-loathing and stop comparing myself to other people. Anyway, the majority don’t know me, don't care. Have their own stuff to deal with. Are their lives so perfect? Did they get what they wanted? More? Or less? Are they happy? I guess it doesn’t matter about them and their lives. It sounds selfish, but I must focus on me. Be more loving, more caring. Be less insular and afraid. Reach out to other people. Join the human race in my own way. Be happy with where I am instead of bucking the system, which is, in all honesty, all in my head. If I can do that. If I can. I can…
