I start my day by daydreaming of when my day will be over. I force myself out of bed, still exhausted, and start to make myself look like the girl I want others to see me as. Tired has become a permanent part of my personality. I pick out my clothes, furiously, because nothing looks good on me. So many clothes and I despise all of them. Can I wear all black forever? Makeup, hair, perfume. No part of me cares, but at the same time, every part of me does. When I can smile and know that my cheeks are rosy and my lipstick is on, somehow I feel better. I feel better knowing that everyone around me sees something more than just ‘me.’ The real ‘me’ is sad, anxious, quiet, awkward, withdrawn, exhausted, and somewhat hateful; the real ‘me’ wants to do nothing more than sit inside, alone, for days at a time. The real ‘me’ also wants to get drunk, have sex, spend lots of money, paint, binge watch Netflix, cry, and write things most people deem as depressing. None of that is helpful. So, here I am. Twenty-three years old, going on twenty-four, and I’m a wreck. I’ve accepted it, because frankly, I don’t see that changing any time soon. There are things that are out of my control that make my life a million times harder than it should or needs to be. Can I be carefree and enjoy my young adult hood? No way in hell. So, I will continue to wake up every day dreading everything. I will also continue to do my makeup, fix my hair, wear clothes that I sort of like, get my nails done sometimes, and smile until I feel better. Everyone needs something to get them through the day.
-I started writing this and had no idea where the post was going. It ended up being about makeup, which is something I’ve never written about before. Weird.-