Mascara

I put on mascara the other day.

For the first time in months.

I didn’t even go anywhere.

I haven’t been looking that great lately.

Physically.

Not saying I look terrible.

Just saying that I have been putting in zero effort towards my appearance.

It takes a lot of energy to work on my mental health 24/7.

So much energy.

That I don’t care what I look like.

That it’s the least of my worries.

Leggings.

Uncombed hair.

The same hoodie everyday.

No mascara.

That’s usually my daily thing.

Mascara is.

And has been for easily over twenty years.

It’s the only makeup I wear.

Sometimes I’ll put on eye shadow.

But I haven’t owned either mascara or eyeshadow for at least a year now.

I hadn’t even thought about that till just now.

That’s the thing.

I haven’t given any shits about what I’ve looked like for about a year now.

Well, more like two years.

Maybe two and a half.

Damn how time slips by me.

How quickly it passes.

But psychosis is a bitch.

And mirrors and I don’t get along too well anymore.

Not saying I don’t look in them when I need to.

But saying that my delusions about being watched.

Go hand in hand with mirrors.

I had taken down all of the mirrors off my walls.

And covered them with a sheet.

Thinking they were all surveillance equiptment.

So in the spirit of doing things different.

Of not buying into delusions.

I’ve been trying to feel good about myself.

I’ve been trying to do things for myself.

Little things.

And that entails plucking my eyebrows in a timely manner too.

Not just once they get out of control.

Just like I have since I was in high school.

I was decent at self care until things started getting bad.

Until around 2017 or so.

That’s when I can recall the confusion setting in.

The blackouts.

The severe dissociation.

The loss of time.

The nowhere near real interpretations of things starting.

Everything.

Everything was hard around and in that year.

I had been married less than a year.

And I knew it was over already.

But I wouldn’t do anything about it for a few more years.

That’s another thing.

Stress.

Stress is my biggest trigger.

Well, I guess I’m pretty sure it’s my biggest trigger.

It’s in the top three.

With it comes increased symptoms.

Voices.

All of the darkness.

Stress is not the end.

Or the beginning.

But an endless unavoidable stream of emotions.

That pop up often.

And erratically.

It has always been there.

Isn’t going anywhere.

And will continue to pop up.

Regardless of what I do to try to curb it.

Knowing this.

Is fucking crucial.

Understanding that some things are out of my control.

And are not anyone’s fault.

No one to blame but the day.

I feel the same way about my current look.

That it’s not anyone’s fault that I haven’t been able to pay attention to it.

I mean.

At the core it’s me.

I’m the one not putting in the efforts.

But also I didn’t have the ability to think about my outward appearance the last year or two.

Or three.

I literally didn’t have the capacity.

Most days I was hiding in my apartment.

Terrified.

Angry.

Throwing tantrums.

Steering clear as I could of all of the hallucinations.

Even though they follow me everywhere I go.

I was really just trying to survive everyday.

Not thrive.

Like the capability I’m starting to have.

It’s strange to have all of these realizations.

That I’ve been neglecting myself.

Not in all the ways.

In some ways.

In outward ways.

It’s just that with all of this work on myself.

My internal work.

I’ve been ignoring my everyday external self.

There have been some things I’ve been working on.

I have been working on losing weight.

Since October.

When I was at my heaviest yet.

I changed how I eat.

And what I eat.

And I’ve now lost over thirty pounds.

And I’m proud of myself for that.

I’ve been really watching what I’m doing in general.

And the slow, steady pace is starting to slowly show progress.

Which is exciting.

But my everyday look.

And my mascara habits.

Have been non-existent.

I mean.

I put it on the other day and was like; oh I look nice now, hmm.

I forgot what I looked like with it on.

I get into habits.

And don’t break them because that’s just what I do.

But that doesn’t have to be the case.

I don’t have to do things in the same order that I fell into the habit of doing.

It’s like my obsessive compulsions aren’t as compulsive.

They’re growing away from me.

And I think that’s why I’ve been able to see myself this weekend.

See my progress.

Myself.

I never knew life had so many layers.

– Keren