What I do not want to share?
Pictures. Photographic evidence.
I've described what I looked like.
One day I looked in the mirror and was horrified at the person looking back. The woman looking back was completely unkempt. Her hair was dirty, her teeth unbrushed. Her clothes did not fit, were stained and mismatched. She was at least a size, if not two, larger than I remembered. Her face was red, bloated and tear stained. Her lips dry and cracked. She stood hunched up, her shoulders pulled in, her head hung low as though she were trying to disappear. And she was.
|Christmas '10. Happy. Hot. (oh, and|
rockin' some hooker boots!)
But hearing it and seeing it are two completely different things. Different experiences. I posted pictures of this Christmas all over the place -- not because I think I look hot (which I totally do, don't get me wrong. I rocked that outfit.) but because I looked awake. I looked present, joyful, alive.
And so this morning I found myself on Facebook, scrolling through my pictures and trying to figure out how to delete the offending evidence from the past 2 1/2 years.
I look awful. I must have gone through five or six different hairstyles trying to find that one perfect style that would allow me to get up in the morning, take a shower, put on some make up, do my hair, pack Violet's lunch, dress my children, clean the house, and love life.
Oh, a hair style can't do this? But that's what I see when I look at those pictures. That's why I have all those different syles. So that's what I see.
I see more than the bloated medicine face, the vacant eyes, the lack of enjoying life.
I see all the things I tried in an effort to make it better. To fix myself.
And so I want to edit.
I want my 'friends' to forget. I want new 'friends' to see this me. The me of Christmas 2010.
I didn't do it. I didn't delete any pictures. I logged off. Got some coffee. Had a cry. Hugged the kids. Sat down and put it out here. This will ensure that I don't edit. I cannot do that. Forgetting, editing, is not an option. If I forget, if I edit, I open the door for it to happen again.
? And this will not happen again.
|September '09 My brothers wedding|
Me, being 'happy.'
|September '10 Family Vacation|
?And this, to the left, will continue to happen. These joyful, happy, content days will be my life. I will giggle with my kids. I will yell about the laundry and then fold it. I will roll my eyes at the drama queens and king that live in my home. And then I will join them in their drama. I will laugh at the cat. I will dance in my kitchen. I will cook and bake and let the kids crack eggs. We will have water fights at bath time and then fall apart at bed time. I will live. I will love. I will laugh. I will dance as if no one is watching. Possibly in my hooker boots. Really. (and oh, what a show that is!!)
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