I stare sadly at myself, at what I have done. My image in the mirror is rather like a carwreck. I am horrified, but cannot look away. How did I get here? Oh, I know how I got here. Whatever makes me who I am got me here. I who like to sit rather than move, I who like to eat rather than, well, rather than almost anything else in the world.
I hear women blame their children or their jobs or lack of time or well, really almost anything. But I will be truthful. I got here very much on my own. The real question is why I stay here. Is it really a lack of will power? I am beginning to think not. I think I am afraid.
If left to imagine, to daydream about who I think I would be minus all this extra body, my mind runs wild. While my body ages and decomposes almost before my eyes, my mind alone retains the sensation of youth and vibrance and well, sexuality. I surprise myself with how sensual I am. And that must remain hidden. Mustn’t it? No one wants to know that old women are just as sexual as young women, nay, as sexual as we imagine the most beautiful and glamourous of women to be. It isn’t fitting. I wonder what my daughters would think if they could see me as I see myself, deep within my mind? No, no one out there wants a sensual grandma. Except perhaps granpas? But we are here. Hiding behind our decaying flesh, our minds ripe and juicy as peaches.
In self-examination, I circle back to fear. Who would I be without the fat and the wrinkles? Perhaps I am afraid of her, of what she will do, this woman who lurks inside of me. I have at last found happiness with a man. But to gain him, I left the other: left him behind as refuse. I felt bad, don’t we always feel bad?, but not bad enough to stay. I had happiness waiting for me, calling to me and I left him crumpled and discarded and fairly skipped away to my new future. I found happiness and picked it up and held it close and said it would be enough. And it is enough. I think it is enough. Will it be enough?
If I were to shed this outer woman, the one who shrouds me from the world, Who would come out? Who is in here? I am afraid of her. What if she is a woman who is never satisfied? What if she thinks she needs more, that this life, and this man, are not enough? What then? I don’t want to be that woman, and deep inside me, I am afraid that all my outer goodness and platitudes are only wrappings that covered her up. Know yourself they say…I am afraid to know myself. I am afraid I will not like her. Is it not better to stay here, wrapped, shrouded, disguised as benign decomposition?
I am a peach, sitting on a long white counter. My skin sags, wrinkles and buckles. My juice is all the sweeter for my maturity. Liquid sugar, just before I go bad.
Tati said,
March 11, 2010 at 7:00 pm
You are not alone. I am afraid of the very same thing. I have hope though, that I am truly a good person. That as the folds of flesh peel away, I will be simply me. The only difference is that everyone will see me as I have always seen myself. I will perhaps have more confidence. But that confidence will only reassure me that I am a good person. I am worthy of the things I have worked for in life. I am a beautiful person. You are not beautiful in the same way that you used to be when you were twenty. But you are so much more beautiful in other ways. Your laugh lines tell stories about your happiness and years of good times. Your eyes are full of understanding and wisdom. You listen, truly listen, rather than listening impatiently for the other person to finish so you can tell your story. You admit to still trying to figure out life. Your “shroud” is but a piece of clothing. A crazy hat perhaps? One that can be changed from time to time but does not keep your inner beauty from the world. People look past your crazy hat and see you for who you are. I truly believe that.
I am a peach, sitting in a dark room. My skin is stretched taughtly over my fleshy innards, splitting in places. I am robust but still immature and hard. Far from ripeness, I lament that I may never get there.
Ms. Goodnight said,
March 11, 2010 at 7:06 pm
you always know just the right thing to say. I hope we don’t ever lose this part of our relationship…feels like this part is just starting. I like the crazy hat analogy. And I think there is some truth to it. I love you daughter peach! But you are not immature and hard. You are ripe but only just!
Lena Baron said,
March 11, 2010 at 8:06 pm
So deep! So Good! I was pondering my Journey Lines and Rolls (wrinkles and fat just last night. I was pondering Leif’s as well. I haven’t come to any deep conclusions about my situation yet. Other then that I miss our younger healthier bodies… Ugg!
erudita said,
March 11, 2010 at 9:09 pm
@Lena
I remember being pregnant as the one time I forgave myself any physical imperfections. I was so awestruck at the amazing thing occuring within me as that child grew and changed. I hope that is where you are in your pregnancy. I hope you are able to relax long enough to just enjoy the moment by moment miracle. But I know that you of all people know how precious this time is.