My boyfriend has bedroom eyes. I envy his lashes. They are long, black, pretty. I stare at the surface of his skin looking for traces of teenage acne scars, massive pores, anything to take account of but it's smooth, undisturbed, perfect. A picture of healthy, symmetrical beauty. I always feel a flash of envy knowing that I will never have that.
I've been thinking a lot about my expectations. Looking through old photographs of myself, I can't help but wonder where my self-image became so derailed and demolished, just completely obliterated over the course of the last twelve or so years. Am I a victim of circumstances or just a coward? I feel disconnected with the person I am and the person I think I look like. It has always been the case, I just feel like the reconciliations to be made regarding this are yet to be put forth. I'm scared. I'm not ready.
Suddenly I feel petrified of aging. A hormonal cacophony in my body. Looming life decisions becoming the subject of flashing, urgent questions: "Am I too old to have a child? Should I be using retinol? Will I even have enough money to retire? Should I get my Master's? Should I get married? What kind of ring do I even want? Will I even be able to afford a wedding dress, much less a child? Does he even love me? Should I be doing this anymore?
If I had to pick a word to describe myself, that would be it.
