Where has all my sexy skin gone? This is the first thought that hit me with an astounding bang on Sunday morning as I ventured to the bathroom in my attempt to unglue my eyes and shake off the vicious swordsman slicing up my head. There is no bigger shock than a vision of yourself the day after, the day before you were glorious and feminine, your hair was full of life and bounce, your eyes glistened and your cheeks glowed. You were pretty and sexy and you had curves in all the right places, hell even your boobs were firm and perky. Then Sunday arrives and along with it comes the horror and the truth mirror that no matter what angle you position yourself in you just look like shit. Sunday has taken away the beauty and left you with matted hair, panda eyes, wrinkles in all the wrong places, curves are now just cinnamon rolls, your eyes are bloodshot pinholes and the dishevelled monster staring you down in the mirror is a grim reminder of what happens when you spend another weekend dancing with the devil and drinking his poisonous fruits.
When the memories of yesterday start crashing down around you like giant bricks and you are reminded of the trail of destruction you left behind, the delicious liquids pouring down your throat, the sensual movements as you glide from the bar to the dance floor and back leaving whispers of beauty in your wake. You were the centre of the universe, untouchable and invincible, the devil was pulling you into his arms and you went willingly, begging for more of his love.
As you stand here facing today and staring down your demon, you cautiously move closer to this shadow person in the mirror, you pinch at those bags weighing down your eyelids just to make sure they are real; yep they’re not going anywhere. You wince as you count those designs etched into your forehead and the tightly pinched lines that have made their home in the corners of your once beautiful eyes. You turn to the side and suck in your stomach, you lift your shirt too believing if you keep holding in for long enough those beautiful curves will return but all you see is leather and the journey of your child. You wince, pray and make promises to the heavens to take you back to yesterday when in your eyes at least you were not this creature. Undo this curse you beg and you begin to descend into your first stage of grief; denial.
So with your heart heavy, your face like a chewed minty, your liver pulsating and your lungs raw you step out of that wretched room and forever shut the door on yesterday. With defeat firmly in your hands you limp back to that special dark quiet cave and pull the blankets high, closing your eyes.
-Pas x