It's nice when people say I'm pretty, beautiful, model-esque, slim, tall, fair. I like it when they say I'm wearing something nice today.
But sometimes I wonder if that's all they really see. Is that all I am to them? Is that all I have become? Am I just a pretty flower pot with fake flowers sticking out from packed artificial soil?
I wish there was something else I could show them. But what? I don't even know what I have anymore sometimes. Sometimes I think I do--then it slips away. Then I try to chase after it, wondering again, should I even be doing this? Is this really what defines me? Am I wasting my time?
It's overwhelming, when you wake up one morning to the realization that you've lost the really solid goals that once drove you. It's scary to realize that you have no goals. What is it you really want to do, people ask me. I am horrified to hear the words come out of my mouth:
I don't know.
How do you re-know the feeling of absolute certainty and focus? What was it like again to be content? How did it feel like to wake up to mornings invigorated with complete faith in yourself and the things you could do? What was it like to take every step and be absolutely sure of what was right and wrong?
I forget.
And sometimes I wonder if I'll ever wake up to mornings like that again. I can wake up and doll myself up and put on nice clothes and brag I got them all on sale. I can look beautiful. But I'd like to be beautiful inside too, to myself. Because the ugliest thing in the world is to feel purpose-less. And right now, that's just how I feel. No amount of make-up can cover that up.
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