Mirror Girl, or Reflections on Self-Image

Warning: I'm feeling very Lady Chatterley's Lover-esque, and as such, I'm going to be flowery but frank. (You'll get what I'm talking about if you ever read it. Which I highly recommend you do, it's one of my favorites.) As such, this entry could offend you. Mostly, I like to think of it as inspiring, and hopefully it will be. That said, proceed at your own comfort.

As you may or may not be aware (depends on how long you've been following me on this blog) last winter I got hit very hard with a bout of chronic depression. I've since become convinced I've got something called Seasonal Affective Disorder, or SAD for short. (Ha. Don't you love the acronym?) I was convinced that going to a new school, and being freed from all the left over high school angst from last year was going to make it better this year, but, unfortunately, I don't think that's the case. It's hit pretty hard and fast (crying for 3 times in the span of less than 30 hours?) and I'm still trying to deal, get back in the rhythm of it, if that makes sense.

Feeling a little better, but still rather dismal, lamenting the fact that my eyes were all puffy from the aforementioned crying before sleep, I stepped into the shower this morning, blasting Coldplay to keep my mind off of things. It didn't really work, but who's to say I didn't try? When the scalding water finally got to be a bit too much and the steam was giving me trouble breathing, I stepped out and opened the door of my bathroom. The music was still playing, but everything else was silent. I love when I'm home alone.

As I toweled off, I thought about possibly going for a walk; it was still pretty early, the sun wouldn't be too hot, and I know now that exercise is good for alleviating depression. As I was making up my mind, I looked into the mirror and paused.

Who was this girl in the mirror? She was... beautiful.

Now, I'm not trying to be narcissistic. I've always had trouble with my self-image from as far back as I can remember. But as I looked in the mirror, I couldn't really look away. Maybe it was the wet hair draped over the right shoulder, curling already. Maybe it was the eyes that weren't so red and puffy or accompanied by those tell-tale dark circles from not getting enough sleep. Who knows, maybe it was just because I wasn't wearing my glasses, and couldn't immediately see the problems that constantly bother me about my appearance. But for whatever reason, standing there in front of the mirror with freshly washed hair, bare breasts and arms at my side naturally, I thought of myself as beautiful.

I'm not perfect. Far from it. But I once wrote something in one of my longer stories that I'm rather proud of that I wanted to bring to your attention. I'm of the belief that beauty is subjective, or, in the eye of the beholder. But, perhaps some things are just inherently beautiful, and it just takes us longer to realize this. Beauty should never be equated with perfection, because there is no such thing. It's in the flaws that we find meaning and resonance, something to cling to. So, here's the little tidbit I wanted to share with you:

"Perhaps...perhaps beauty was meant to be...well, ‘flawed’, as you put it."

I'm not entirely sure if any of that even made any sense or not. I just wanted to share with you my thoughts this morning. It was quite the epiphany for me, and helped put me in a better mood.

Thanks for reading.