I am not my biggest fan tonight. Not even close. I look at my reflection and all I feel is disgust and the growing urge to puke.
I hate what I see, what I feel. I look up at the Audrey Hepburn poster on my wall and think why? What a fucking joke - as if owning this poster somehow makes me into a sophisticated, desirable, wanted woman. Back to the reflection - it's not changed. Still the same faults and blind spots where small redeeming features threaten to lie. Audrey, in your shiny tiara and perfect pose, what's it like to be you?
Do you suppose all women have moments like these? Insecure and itching for change, desperate for acceptance? Or is it just women like me - screwed up?
I pretend for a moment like I don't care, but that's the biggest lie of all - the one that defines me.
I have been a perfectionist all my life. I can make just about anything I do, perfect - except the one things that matters... me.
What is it that makes you tick, you strange little bird? Why can't you just get your shit together?
Is the answer in a song lyric or a books page?
Now is not the time to be having a crisis. It's the single largest social event of the year next week. I'm prepared to go, but I've lost the fight to care.
People talk about finding the fountain of youth - but I know something of far greater value, that if bottled, could change everything. Confidence; it's the key that unlocks it all. Now why can't they make a pill for that?
SB xx
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