Things are worse. Not wearing make up has made me feel less beautiful in every way. I have lowered my self worth and forcibly wear jeans and an oversized tshirt, or sweats as often as possible because it is the only thing I can pull off (hardly, actually). I throw my hair up in a bun because it's easy and sloppy and out of the way instead of actually trying to look nice and failing. My face. Has worsened me. It's somehow gotten dirtier and acne has formed in places that used to be clean as day. I'm angry right now. I am bitter, upset, and ugly. My closet, my floor, and my additional clothing rack has been collecting new pieces every weekend "Maybe if I have these things, I'll feel better, prettier somehow." Nope. I hardly wear any of them. I revert to my go-tos (big tshirt and comfy pants). I do not feel beautiful at all. I think less of myself. I believe I am less attractive, never classy, never sexy. I hardly feel like a girl. I feel gross and dirty. This fast is failing me. It was a bad idea. I hate myself for it.
I stand next to my friend in line at the store as a lady tells her in a rough hispanic acent, "You go to hollywood and make movies. You are so beautiful." As I smile and nod from behind. The lady looks over at me, insincerely, and only to be courtious, "Both of you." Yeah, right. Nice cover up. I know I'm not pretty. Not that pretty. Not "go to hollywood and make movies" pretty. (Though ironically, that is what I want to do...only behind the camera, cause let's face it - I can't handle adding another 10 pounds...)
I don't smile more. I don't know why I wrote that before. I guess what I meant was, I try to smile more. I know smiling more would help. But I'm not happy. I'm miserable. Miserably homely. Disgusted with myself.
This isn't healthy. I feel ashamed looking at myself makeupless, and I will feel ashamed if I break the fast too early.
But honestly, none of it matters. Dressing up. Wearing makeup. When it comes to me and my mess, it has never mattered. I was hardly liked when I did wear make up. And without it. It's pretty much the same, with less surfacey compliments.
It's about learning to love yourself, right?
Bullshit. I'm lightyears away from that.
So. Lost cause, I'm gonna call it.
Lost cause.
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Friday, October 1, 2010
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Wednesday September 1, 2010
(I day dream of January when I'll be able to have blacker eyelashes and redder lips. But I'm scared I will still cry. And I will still not accept myself.)
I have four months left and what have I learned? I have learned that I can survive without makeup. And that everyone is prettier when they smile. I have learned that. Even myself. I can get away without wearing makeup, when I smile. It surprises me really. And I've learned how sadly insecure so many other girls remain. I would in no way call myself confident in appearance just yet, but I have come to some contentment. Not wearing makeup is not the end of the world. It's not even that terrible. And more often than we think, other people aren't thinking about what our faces look like. In fact, more often then we think, other people still think we're beautiful. I have learned that. "I honestly can't even tell you're not wearing make up." Which in my head, I could go the negative route and think "Well, then, obviously, I'm just ugly no matter what." But that's not true. What is true is what people (that love me) have said. No, what God has said. What He has made. And what they are saying, what He is saying, what He has made, is beauty. They mean compliments in telling me they couldn't tell. They couldn't tell because they don't care. And let me explain. In my saying they don't care, I mean...they don't care what I look like. Really. They can compliment me when I look nicer or cuter or prettier, but if I don't, will they stop loving me? Will they stop caring for me? Not at all. Not even an ounce. I like dressing up. I like playing with clothes and make up. And I have a good chunk of friends who like the same thing. And they like having that in common with me. But I am confident that if I completely stopped dressing up, doing my hair, and looking pretty, that they would still love me. It would not be a huge loss on the scale of who I am. Because I am not my clothes. I am not my hair. I am not my face. I am my heart and soul. And that is what they really love.
And that is what I am really learning.
And that is what I really want the whole world to learn.
One of the most beautiful girls I know broke my heart this weekend when she had just gotten out of the shower, cleaned her face, and put on her PJs. She was waiting for her friend to come over. A female friend. Her friend called and said her and her guy friend were on their way. As soon as my friend got off the phone she said "Oh no. I didn't know she was bringing a guy, ah!" And she immediately changed into jeans and put makeup on her face. "Why?!" I said and thought both very loudly. I could not understand one bit. And realized, "This has changed me." Eight months ago, I would have done just the same thing. Eight months ago, I DID do the same thing. I was over at my guy friends apt and I went home to take a shower. I got out. Got dressed. Put my hair in 70s style braids and applied makeup to my face. Only to spend, maybe twenty more minutes with them? Eight months ago, I could not leave the house without covering my blemishes, brightening up my cheeks, thickening my lashes. And now, I go spend every day with a clean face, completely vulnerable, often sad about it, but I do it. And I smile more. Because smiling is my beauty. And I used to hardly ever smile. Because I just didn't feel like it. And the makeup helped.
But now I smile.
And I am realizing, I am learning. I have changed. Though not entirely, I have.
And that is beautiful.
I have four months left and what have I learned? I have learned that I can survive without makeup. And that everyone is prettier when they smile. I have learned that. Even myself. I can get away without wearing makeup, when I smile. It surprises me really. And I've learned how sadly insecure so many other girls remain. I would in no way call myself confident in appearance just yet, but I have come to some contentment. Not wearing makeup is not the end of the world. It's not even that terrible. And more often than we think, other people aren't thinking about what our faces look like. In fact, more often then we think, other people still think we're beautiful. I have learned that. "I honestly can't even tell you're not wearing make up." Which in my head, I could go the negative route and think "Well, then, obviously, I'm just ugly no matter what." But that's not true. What is true is what people (that love me) have said. No, what God has said. What He has made. And what they are saying, what He is saying, what He has made, is beauty. They mean compliments in telling me they couldn't tell. They couldn't tell because they don't care. And let me explain. In my saying they don't care, I mean...they don't care what I look like. Really. They can compliment me when I look nicer or cuter or prettier, but if I don't, will they stop loving me? Will they stop caring for me? Not at all. Not even an ounce. I like dressing up. I like playing with clothes and make up. And I have a good chunk of friends who like the same thing. And they like having that in common with me. But I am confident that if I completely stopped dressing up, doing my hair, and looking pretty, that they would still love me. It would not be a huge loss on the scale of who I am. Because I am not my clothes. I am not my hair. I am not my face. I am my heart and soul. And that is what they really love.
And that is what I am really learning.
And that is what I really want the whole world to learn.
One of the most beautiful girls I know broke my heart this weekend when she had just gotten out of the shower, cleaned her face, and put on her PJs. She was waiting for her friend to come over. A female friend. Her friend called and said her and her guy friend were on their way. As soon as my friend got off the phone she said "Oh no. I didn't know she was bringing a guy, ah!" And she immediately changed into jeans and put makeup on her face. "Why?!" I said and thought both very loudly. I could not understand one bit. And realized, "This has changed me." Eight months ago, I would have done just the same thing. Eight months ago, I DID do the same thing. I was over at my guy friends apt and I went home to take a shower. I got out. Got dressed. Put my hair in 70s style braids and applied makeup to my face. Only to spend, maybe twenty more minutes with them? Eight months ago, I could not leave the house without covering my blemishes, brightening up my cheeks, thickening my lashes. And now, I go spend every day with a clean face, completely vulnerable, often sad about it, but I do it. And I smile more. Because smiling is my beauty. And I used to hardly ever smile. Because I just didn't feel like it. And the makeup helped.
But now I smile.
And I am realizing, I am learning. I have changed. Though not entirely, I have.
And that is beautiful.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
August 15, 2010
An Ugly Year. A very very very Ugly Year. I am so over this. I am depressed and disgusted with myself. I am SO over this.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
July 20, 2010
Today, I wore mascara. For all but three minutes, it sat there, on my eyelashes, surrounded by a naked face. I was getting ready to go out. I was tired of searching through an endless pile of patterns and cut cloth just to be disappointed by how it looked on me. I was bored with playing a never ending game of bobby pin or no bobby pin? Braid or no braid? Ponytail...or no ponytail?
I walked into my sisters room, sat down next to her predictable mess of face painting products and grabbed the little pink and green bottle I was once so familiar with. First, I curled them (the lashes). Then, I painted them. And I felt...nothing, really. As I sat there, cross legged, starring into a dirty mirror, performing a ritual I had not performed for seven months now, I felt, nothing. No change, no saddness, no joy. It was as if, it was nothing. I wasn't shocked and shamed at what I had just done. Nor was I relieved or feeling at all beautified. I liked the way it looked. I liked painting, creating, thicker-darker-more-luscious-lashes. But I didn't care.
That took one minute, and after looking at myself for another, I went into the bathroom and washed it off. I was not-so-shockingly stoic throughout the whole thing. It was just a curiosity forming itself into an answer. And, though I hate to admit this, the face I looked at after wiping away the excess baby shampoo and water, was a face that felt, looked, and laughed refreshing. It was a face I have come to be quite familiar with most recently. And though, not always a face I enjoy - it was definitely a face that was safe.
It's not all that grand of a story though, really. No epiphany. No heartwarming end. In fact, it's sadder, in perspective. This actually made me realize what I have been doing and why. I love make up. Yes. I love wearing it. I honestly believe it makes a lot look prettier. I believed it made myself prettier. But I was wearing makeup for so long, looking the same bland ol' face. I didn't believe I was getting any prettier, or ever really was.
The "fast" then, was a cop out. An easy way to blame the ugly. "Well, I'm not wearing any makeup." It's easier this way, to get by with the lack I feel I carry. Cause if I wear makeup, and am not satisfied with my look, what else can I do? Nothing. Cause makeup and fashion and the right hair style-that's where the beauty is. To me. So. If I have all of that, and still see nothing head-turning-room-silencing-jaw-droppingly gorgeous, what else can I do? Give up. Wear less make up (or no makeup). Dress comfortably, but not outstandingesquely. Pull my hair back or let it flop on the side of my face. Whatever. Either and all ways- I'll never be satisfied with this flesh.
So. That's where I'm at now.
I walked into my sisters room, sat down next to her predictable mess of face painting products and grabbed the little pink and green bottle I was once so familiar with. First, I curled them (the lashes). Then, I painted them. And I felt...nothing, really. As I sat there, cross legged, starring into a dirty mirror, performing a ritual I had not performed for seven months now, I felt, nothing. No change, no saddness, no joy. It was as if, it was nothing. I wasn't shocked and shamed at what I had just done. Nor was I relieved or feeling at all beautified. I liked the way it looked. I liked painting, creating, thicker-darker-more-luscious-lashes. But I didn't care.
That took one minute, and after looking at myself for another, I went into the bathroom and washed it off. I was not-so-shockingly stoic throughout the whole thing. It was just a curiosity forming itself into an answer. And, though I hate to admit this, the face I looked at after wiping away the excess baby shampoo and water, was a face that felt, looked, and laughed refreshing. It was a face I have come to be quite familiar with most recently. And though, not always a face I enjoy - it was definitely a face that was safe.
It's not all that grand of a story though, really. No epiphany. No heartwarming end. In fact, it's sadder, in perspective. This actually made me realize what I have been doing and why. I love make up. Yes. I love wearing it. I honestly believe it makes a lot look prettier. I believed it made myself prettier. But I was wearing makeup for so long, looking the same bland ol' face. I didn't believe I was getting any prettier, or ever really was.
The "fast" then, was a cop out. An easy way to blame the ugly. "Well, I'm not wearing any makeup." It's easier this way, to get by with the lack I feel I carry. Cause if I wear makeup, and am not satisfied with my look, what else can I do? Nothing. Cause makeup and fashion and the right hair style-that's where the beauty is. To me. So. If I have all of that, and still see nothing head-turning-room-silencing-jaw-droppingly gorgeous, what else can I do? Give up. Wear less make up (or no makeup). Dress comfortably, but not outstandingesquely. Pull my hair back or let it flop on the side of my face. Whatever. Either and all ways- I'll never be satisfied with this flesh.
So. That's where I'm at now.
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