Vanity

I've never thought of myself as a vain person. I've never thought I had anything to be vain about. I've always sort of worked around these things about myself that I've considered major handicaps, and created a self esteem for myself based on a surety of my own awesomeness combined with a willingness to see admiration in the eyes of others. Even when it's not there... :D

But I've found my vanity, after it's been taken away from me. My hair, and my healthy skin, were major factors in helping me think of myself as an attractive human being. My hair has been falling out lately due to either a severe iron deficiency or proximity to death (that last part is hyperbole), and my eczema has been flaring up to the point that there are visible patches on my body. I've got bags under my eyes that make the Grand Canyon blush with inadequacy. I look OLD. And I look old because I feel old. I look unattractive because I feel unattractive. It doesn't matter if I ACTUALLY look old and unattractive. It's what I see in the mirror, so it's what I see in others eyes. I feel like a sexless, unattractive creature right now.

I hate it. But, it's also been teaching me a lot about how I view beauty, attractiveness, and what I have to offer to the world. I've been forcing myself to develop a sense of self that doesn't revolve around seeing admiration in the eyes of others (real or imagined). It's hard. I never thought I relied on that so much. I feel like a shallow little twit right now. I've always had issues with my weight, but I could look at myself in the mirror and see... something lovely, even if it wasn't to my taste. I saw potential, and I saw sexuality. I look in the mirror now, and I see fading hopes. And that's FUCKING terrifying. And kind of ridiculous. I'm 33, mostly healthy, incredibly driven and smart, happy, mobile, wealthy by 99% of the worlds standards, and capable of doing whatever the hell I want. Were my hopes really based on my (absolutely minimal) beauty??? Am I really that fucking brainwashed?

So. I force myself to act the same way I always have. I force myself to walk with the same confident stride, to look people in the eyes, to admire my silhouette in windows, to not obsess over what part of me they might be staring at. But I can't force myself to see admiration. That, I think, will take some time. It'll take me being able to look at myself that way again, and THAT will take an extensive overhaul of what I see when I look in the mirror.

I honestly thought I was different from other women. That looks didn't matter to me, because looks COULDN'T matter to me. But when the shallow things I loved about myself are gone, I'm in the exact same boat as the ungracefully aging soccer mom, or the desperate for attention teenager. Or, apparently, almost every other human raised in Western society and taught that what we have to offer the world is held on our outside.

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