Mirror, mirror...

Passengers aboard flight 042010, this is your captain MsHap speaking. I took my own liberties with the tried and true inquiry of pure-hearted Snow White, as I stared earlier into my bathroom mirror, readying myself for public evaluation. "Mirror, mirror on the wall, who am I fooling, if any, at all?" She replied, "Why dear, only yourself of course. All who love you see truth regardless of what your appearance seeks to reinforce." "Fuck you," said I.

The nerve of that mirror, honestly. To tell me that I can't hide behind calculated maneuvers and loaded to-do lists, behind developed, habitual behaviors and mannerisms that show forth happiness, behind perfected brushstrokes that accentuate and yet conceal the realities of my face. "Watch and learn," I sarcastically flung at her, setting out all the tools of my arsenal haphazardly around the sink. I ran a brush through the strands of my hair, over and over, until it shined and showed no evidence of a night not slept through. A night in which I tossed and turned and tangled my mane with thoughts of complications and "What the hell do I do now's." I swirled my foundation brush in powder and buffed it into my tan skin, combating its sallowed, lackluster quality. Drip, drip went the Visine drops, two in each eye, erasing the traces of red that ebbed across them like lightning bolts. Dot, dot went concealer, under my ojos, to ease the dark circles that tears and insomnia create. And dot, dot, more yet, sporadically across my visage, in the sports where pimples told stories of increased stress levels, falling asleep before properly scrubbing the day's accumulated grime off of its surface, out of its pores. I lined, and contoured, and curled, and accessorized, and brushed and Listerine'd the taste of yesterday's failures right out of my mouth. I engaged in a staring contest with the mirror after all this effort. "Yes, fuck you," I reiterated, "I am not fooled by the image I see, I know who I am." "Oh," she calmly stated, "You do, do you?" "Yes," I shot back. "Then a bigger question exists my dear," she countered. "Do you like who you see?" I was the first to blink. And slowly avert my gaze and walk away.

On paper, and even somewhat psychologically/emotionally/physically I am doing better, feeling better. But I am far from right, still prone to pulling the pin on certain ticking timebombs that I have yet to completely disarm and/or rid of in my daily routines, and not throw them far enough away or even get them out of my fucking hand before they detonate. I am running, have two weeks left of this semester of school, am drinking much, much less. Check, check, double check. And yet, I still wonder every day if he is ever going to tell me "I love you" again, hate that I even wonder about that. I am still not prioritizing obligations over desires as I should be, and I have creditors and situations that are crippling me with uncertainty, and fear because of it. I am still fighting God.

And so, I'm off to complete the rest of this day. Work. Sweat session. Homework. All the while still asking myself and not knowing the answer to, "Do I like who I see, do I like who I am?" And then pondering the follow-up question, "What more am I to do?" I don't have a clue.