… that’s what is said about a picture. More telling than any narrative, a picture has the ability to lay bare the truth of it’s subject. Sometimes, that truth is more than we want to know or accept.
I was kind of excited for our holiday party this evening. Enough so that I went and had my make-up done. Nothing outlandish, but just something a bit fun for the evening. So, I skipped out of work a bit early and headed off to be ‘made up’.
Between chit-chatting and working, the girl ‘transforming’ me spent close to forty minutes. When she was done, I have to say I thought it looked nice. I know it sounds all stereotyped and such, but I like having my make-up done: it’s fun. I left there smiling and feeling pretty good as I headed over to the party.
I am not really good at the whole social thing. Being an introvert doesn’t make the ‘mingling’ thing any easier, but I headed in, said a few greetings and soon found that, as I had figured, people were grouped by their respective areas. After making me way through and getting some food, I sat at a an empty table to eat. A few people wandered over, chatted for a few and then moved on. My mood was not-so-slowly sinking.
As I stood talking with someone who had wandered over, we were asked to pose for a picture. *Click* – I asked to see the picture: I wanted to cringe. She tried another. *Click* – equally bad. I asked that she promise to delete them because I didn’t want them circulated. Another friend came over and it was another round of pics. I protested but my friend tried convincing me how poorly she looked in pictures. *Click* – a third picture taken…
I looked at it and inside I wanted to cry. I told the girl taking the pics that I wanted them deleted. She looked as if to ask if I was serious and I told her that I really do not want them shared. Whatever bit of confidence I had that made me somehow think I looked ‘good’ had been sucked from me. As I stood there looking around at everyone, all I wanted to do was to be be invisible – so I did the next best thing. I picked up my bag and quietly made my way to the coatroom, got my stuff and I left. I’m pretty sure no one even noticed.
As I walked down the street, I wanted to cry. All I could see was that damn picture and how fucking ridiculous I looked. And then, I begin to think about how I look every day, and if that is how the world sees me. Am I so deluded as to think that I actually look reasonable? Apparently I am…
I have had this crazy idea that I might just be able to transition… at least up until tonight. Right now, I’m not sure I even want to wake up tomorrow. Because if I do, I’ll be forced to look at myself again – something that’s been getting harder and harder for me to do.
And now I have an image burnt into my mind – an image past which I’m not sure I can see…
:: sighs ::
I really am about ready to be done with it all.