DISCLAIMER: Please join me in my pity party today- I intend to wallow in it. Not to worry, I’m nothing if resilient and this too shall pass..
I feel ugly.
I think all of us go through moments of self introspection where we turn a critical eye on on our imperfect bodies with a ruthless disregard for extenuating realities such as time and the inevitable march of gravity. Most of us have the capacity to be cruelly intolerant of our perceived flaws, looking at what we think are irredeemable horrors under a microscope, allowing no leavening dollop of compassion or acceptance to mar our total disgust.
Envy cloaks me in shame as I lament the lack of money which would allow me to buy the erasure of time and experience from a face which has seen too many days, not enough sleep and far, far too much stress. I am envious of a friend who I love dearly and her belly, or lack thereof – sleek through a surgeon’s knife, the inevitable marks of childbearing magically erased, skin and muscle magically restored. I envy her visits to a clinic where laser restores moisture and firmness to skin battered by the sun of thousand days, lines etched through life’s lessons and the marks and inevitable tracing of life’s vicissitudes are no longer apparent.
I know the rational explanations for my mid-life hate-fest. I know the trite if well meant rejoinders about time adding character, that I should bear the marks with “pride”....
It doesn’t cut it today – damned if it cuts it any day, but today, it most definitely doesn’t cut it.
I want to look in a mirror and not cringe.
I want to feel desired.
I want the sensuality that I feel in my soul to be sensed and embraced. I want the essence of the being that is me to be wanted and needed and desired. I want to be able to look at my body, into my eyes, and feel there is a reason WHY someone would want to run their fingers along my pale skin, cup my breasts and tease me into hot panting want. I want to feel that breathless, frantic need pouring from his eyes and spill into hands that grasp and demand and seek.
Words are trite.
And when you have been as physical as I have, when you have embraced and revelled in and wallowed and adored the reality of flesh, having yours rejected endlessly is humbling. It is humiliating. It is hurtful and soul-destroying.
And it is my reality.
And nothing- absolutely nothing – will convince me that if I had the time, the money, the leisure to combat time’s encroachments, I might still be desired.
I feel ugly today.