My life isn't my own

My life is not my own

 

 

I avoid my mirrors. My sisters could attest growing up I always looked at myself in the mirror. I would even get ready just to stare at myself and talk to myself. Weird, conceited, materialistic… yeah say all you want, but I’m sure I’m not the only one. I thought I was pretty; especially with the make-up on and the hair done. Getting ready was and still is one of my favorite things to do. There is an art to it, almost as if I’m a painter and my face is my canvas. Or taking an old rough looking house and seeing the potential in it and then taking the time to fix it up. So really I’m only being restorative, right? So when you take that house and start to drywall and paint over the cracks, are all the cracks really gone? What if over time they keep reappearing? You’ve painted before; you’ve “fixed up” a house before. You know what you’re doing. You’ve even helped other people renovate their own home and the result was successful. So you feel as if you know what you’re doing and other people expect you to know what you’re doing; you have all the answers. Only to find out the source of the cracks on the wall were due to a rotting foundation. Knowingly, you over looked it. You never took time to seek the help it desperately needed. Now, not only are you faced with a breaking foundation, but numerous problems that have sprung from this underlying issue.

All that I have to tell you is real and it’s personal. It’s a declaration in the course of a heart that was caught ceasing to fully live.