So you somehow have to contemplate juice cleanses while cutting out harmful carbs and exercising because your doctor is concerned ( you try not to recall that your doctor treated you like an immortal before your last birthday). But that's ok. This is the new normal. You wake up and it's too exhausting trying to be pretty, trying to be sultry. You start walking like you feel, which is often an 80 old man grumpily jog -walking home because, ew humans. It's ok that you look like a male octogenarian. You never had much sex appeal anyway.
Normally, I'd have resented that kind of wholesome, healthy, glowy perfection. But I couldn't. Her entrance had a very "North Witch" effect on me. She was stunning in a lulling way. Beautiful inside and out. Instead of resenting her, I trusted her. She was professional, greeting me like an adult, instead of in a condescending manner like so many healthcare professionals were prone to do.
She doesn't need to work up the courage to get a blue dyed bob she just goes and does it. Not electric blue, she’s not rock and roll enough, she’s more indie rock. So it’s a faded blue, like an ombre grey blue. Either that or dusty rose tinted hair. Because she’s vintage. A little 60’s Twiggy, a little roaring 20’s, a little vintage steampunk, a little rococo.
I wish I had the power to create my own portrait, to convey both what I feel inside and what I want the world to see. They don’t come through. The truth is hard to face and that’s why I hate the camera lens. That’s why I don’t judge the selfie taker. There is a power in framing your own image, in showing the world what you want it to to see.
Up that hill, according to my overdramatic mind, was the decisive knowledge that would shape the decisions of my adulthood. Would my future be filled with hope, or would it be all dark tunnels, a claustrophobic coffin-like hallway until the final hibernation? Ya. That gloomy. Because I was twenty-three and convinced that I was infertile.
But no, we’re not all 6 ft tall, confident beauties with adorable smiles, sexy hoarse voices and endearingly honest senses of humour. I naively entertained the idea that, maybe here… here’s one for the ashkenazi girls. We can be tall, strong and gorgeous AF. That idea crumbled pretty quickly.
It was about coming to terms with the fact that NO, my body was NOT causing or going to cause a catastrophe, whether it be disgust or desire. It was about realising my body was not going to elicit any reaction from anybody, because my body was not for others to react to. It was for me.