Lately I’ve made a terrifying realisation. And when I mean terrifying, I'm not talking about the fear you feel at night. I am talking about the fear that never leaves you, no matter how bright the sun is shining or how many people that are surrounding you. The fear that is about your life and they never do stop, really, because life keeps going on and on until the day it doesn't. And then all your fears are gone forever, because wherever you are then, nothing can hurt you there that could get to you in your life.
A terrifying realisation, I will start right ahead. It was a day, maybe one or two weeks ago and probably on a weekend. I was in the bathroom, probably, it may have been my room but it isn't very important. The point is that nobody was around and I was passing by a mirror. This was one of the days I had spent at home so I hadn't bothered putting on makeup. Because, to explain the thing with that, ever since school year started, not a single day I have been in school without a full face of makeup. It's foundation, concealer, powder, bronzer, highlight, eyeshadows, mascara and lipstick. It is by all means a full face of makeup and I spend about twentyfive minutes every morning putting it on. Previously, just two years ago, I didn't like the persons that had so much makeup. Or well, they could possibly be great, but I still didn't like the fact that they had all that shit in their faces. It felt so false and so unnecessary. I couldn't understand why they cared, really. It would just hide the real face they had, and that face was their sign that they should be proud of. Makeup was such a stupid thing. I sworn to myself that I wouldn't ever be one of those girls (or boys, I am not the one following stereotypes) that felt the need to lie to everyone around them.
I have said some dumb things in my life when I didn't understand what I was doing because I was a small kid. But this may have been the most unthoughtful promise I have ever given myself. I really was to small to understand.
Soon I saw other reasons to have makeup. It was a thing that you painted over the sign so it would look more like your inside. It was fun to experiment with. It was an artform. It was one of those things in life that you at some point should explore, because they can start to have a bigger meaning for you than you ever thought. These are all very valid and good reasons to wear makeup, but sadly enough, none of these were mine. It was actually the reason I hated so much in the first place. I felt the need to hide my face. I had to lie to everyone around me.
It was at the beginning of this school year. You see, earlier this year, during summer vacation, I flew off of my bike. It was just at the end of a hill and all these small stones were laid out in front and I had a high speed and... well, you understand the rest. I didn't die, luckily enough I was wearing a helmet. But I got scars all over my bare arms and in my face. It is one on my hand that is the most visible, it still looks horrible, but that wasn't what I brought from the injury. It was a thought that flew through my head the moment I lost control over my twisting bike and flew over it, maybe two meters to then land on the ground and glide on it for some more meters, causing multiple burn marks.
My face is going to be destroyed.
I had seen videos of people who lived through fires. I had seen magazines filled with all the plastic operations that had gone wrong. I had read about car accidents, figths, falls, and a lot of different situations in which people lived but their face became destroyed. Filled with blood, later filled with scars and marks that never disappered. I don't know if you can blame me for this, but all I could think of was that I didn't want to be one of them that doesn't recognise themselves in the mirror as they walk by. That only could feel regret and shame of theirselves. I didn't want to be the one that people stared at, laughed at, ignored. I begged in that last moment for it not to happen, for my face to remain the same, for my face to be normal, which is horrible. But I was so scared.
It looked pretty bad for a few days. But when a week or two had passed, miraculously my face was almost completely healed. Some red lines were everything you could see, and along with all the scars from pimples they were barely visible. But I kept being scared. The first day of school I put on a full face of makeup to cover it.
And from that, I never stopped. They kind of look the same now, only a little less red, and I know that no one would ever laugh at them or stare at them because they aren't so bad and I know people wouldn't even notice. But I kept being scared. The makeup was my defence. It had took away all my self confidence and I didn't notice, but it made me weak and insecure and I kept having the makeup on as a shield.
Now we come to my realisation. In my bathroom or bedroom, me without makeup, walking by a mirror. And I don't know if I had forgot I didn't have it on, but I catched a look at my face and jumped back. It was unprotected and ordinary and not a fancy mask. When I understood that, I started to wonder why my face had scared me so much, and then it hit me.
My own face. I had forgotten what it looked like. I have read somewhere that you actually don't know your face as well as you know other people's, and that a complete copy of you could walk in a crowd, just passing by your side, and you wouldn't notice it. But this was so much different. I touched my cheeks, my lips, my forehead, dragged a finger across my nose. I stared into my own eyes. And I didn't remember it from Before. All I could remember was the colour of my foundation rather than the one on my own skin, the marked cheek bones rather than the slightly shadowed ones I looked at, the highlighted nose rather than the one in front of me, and the eyes heavy with eyeshadow and surrounded by long, black eyelashes. And in that moment I realised it. I had destroyed my face.
Bye for today.