Thoughts on being old.

Once upon a time I was young.

Even when I started getting into my late twenties I still looked like a fresh faced school girl next door. But now, my reflection pains me. My dad says I look ugly. That my skin is disgusting and I look like a crackhead, he wonders, what happened to that pretty girl?

Oh daddy, well… It pains me too that my pores have gotten larger, that my rosacea is in a permanent flare up state, that my once full and luscious hair has been reduced to a thin and frail handful, that the once lean body of my former high school and college athlete self is now full of stretch marks and dimples. Oh daddy, I feel you. I also wonder each and every time I look at myself in the mirror.

I cry. I sigh. I curse the heavens. I sometimes go days without even looking.

As I get older every imperfection is magnified. My self-esteem goes further down and all the hope I had for looking good again disappeared about 2 years ago.

Today is different. I’m not happy about having my youth sucked right out of me, in fact the main reason is still latched on to me. Why let the pain consume me though? After all, even in a culture that praises and glorifies youth and beauty, the most kind and interesting people are the ones that embrace their imperfections. The happy souls that smile with crooked teeth and crows feet. The ones that walk proudly with their pointy ears, strong noses, and dull skin.

Smile always.

Youth will take your skin, your hair, your mobility but it can’t take your love for life.


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