So I’m sorry that it seems as though my blog is turning into some sort of introspective rant on my part, but I just need to work these things out and this is my blog so this is where I’m gonna do it.
I’m fairly certain that I don’t know what I look like. You think I’m an idiot, right? How does a person not know what they look like? Very easily, in fact. And it’s not that I don’t own any mirrors or anything. I have quite a few of them, actually. I just never seem to concentrate on them when it’s my own face staring back at me. And I mean, I look at myself when I get ready in the morning, but I never really notice anything.
I’m not a make-up kinda gal and my hairdresser always has to remind me that “I should really do something about those eyebrows.” I’ve been told that I have nice skin. I like my green eyes. I think my nose is a bit big, but it was taken straight off my father’s face, so I can’t really do anything about that. I suppose I have an average sort of mouth. But I’m just not sure what all of these pieces add up to as a whole. And that’s all just on my head. I only seem to look at myself in pieces. Smallish boobs, bit of a belly, a big puerto rican ass on top of some diesel thighs. But again, what does it all add up to?
I honestly surprise myself sometimes. On the brief walk that I have from my train to my building in the mornings, there’s a ton of mirrored storefronts. And on the rare occasions where I happen to catch a glimpse of myself in one of these windows, I’m downright floored to find a full grown woman staring back at me. When did this happen? My minds’ eye still sees my 18 year old image, and I seriously need to update that file, cause no way do I look like that anymore.
Maybe this is part of why my brain shoots itself down all the time. Because a part of me thinks that I’m still too young to handle things. But then, I’ve always been told I’ve got one of those old souls, wise beyond my years. Perhaps I really was wise at such a young age that no one took me seriously back then. So I censored myself in order to prevent ridicule and I’ve never stopped censoring. So maybe, if I can get my brain to realize that I’m almost 30, I’ll finally think I’m old enough to handle myself.
Geez, I should start thinking about changing the name of this blog to something with “Therapy” in the title.