I have naturally curly hair, but it’s strange it didn’t use to always be that way. It was straight as a board when I was a little girl growing up, and I tell my friends that now, they never believe me until I show them proof. Even then, they think somehow my mother manipulated it with some kind of voodoo or something to be straight just for the family photo, but it was straight at one time. I mean, if it got humid outside, and boy did it everywhere I grew up, it would curl a bit and frizz around the edges, but whose hair doesn’t? It’s like one morning I just woke up, and there it was, poof, curly hair. I’ve kind of always been like that, though. I’d be doing one thing and decide that was it, and so, poof, something different.
I had an awful habit of smoking from the time I was way too young until I was way too old and knew better on both ends of that one, but one day decided that was it. I’d had enough, and it always was that way with me. I believe there are people out there just like that. Those that can make a decision and turn them into something completely different. The ability to kill a vice, so to speak, but what if there’s something I can’t stop doing? I feel like I’ve fallen into that hole, and I can’t get out of it, and there’s just no way to claw myself out of the well that I’ve fallen into this time. There’s no rescue unit that can come and spend three days sending down cheese puffs and bottled water to keep me alive in order to make that decision to stop, for it to be over and end, and to finally tie that rope around my waist and give in to the rescue. Instead, I’ve been here, holding tighter to the edges and refusing to let go.
I’ve tried to make the right decisions, and honestly, I’ve wanted to stop, but I can’t. And now, it’s as if I can’t stop doing any of it at all. It was the strangest thing, and it just started out of nowhere. Have you ever wanted to change something about yourself that you have no control over? Of course you have. Everyone has wanted to make their nose smaller, their legs longer, and so many other things that would make us all happier, or at least we think they will. What if suddenly, you could?
It was the start of the weekend, and I was going to head out with some friends. Looking in the mirror, I looked a little too closely. NEVER look that close at yourself in a mirror. There’s always something there you’ll find. I’m no exception; some wrinkles were lining their way out the edges of my eyes, and I tried to determine when those made their debut on my face and why no one mentioned it. Also, thank god no one mentioned them. Maybe no one has seen them. Leaning back from the mirror, they looked like ravines forged from all the tears I’d created over my lifetime. Where did they come from? How in the world can I get rid of them? I felt betrayed by time and wondered for a moment if I had used each day well enough to warrant these wrinkles. If only these were the things you had control over, the things you could change.
Staring at myself for too long, and with one final exhale, I took the thought and tossed it out there in the universe.
“If only I could change that and make them go away.”
I walked away in disgust and finished getting ready before heading out to meet with my friends. One of them, who has probably known me longer than anyone, leaned over the table and flat out asked me if I had somehow managed to get some work done on my face without any of them knowing. I just laughed and took note of the lighting in this restaurant, trying to determine if I could pull it off in my apartment. I told her she was crazy and how I had just noticed these deep lines drawing their way out of the corners of my eyes. She replied that those were the lines she was talking about. Crestfallen, there went my hope that no one had seen them, and that hope flew out the window just like my self-confidence did in that same instance. Confused by her question now, I tried to figure out why she would think anyone would add those lines to their face, but now I would have to look into some lifting or pulling or tucking or injections, something… anything. Whatever it is they do to fix it was going to be my newest topic of research this weekend for sure.
She leaned in even closer at that and asked if I had started using some new face moisturizer or new make-up. Nope. Same overpriced department store products I’d been using for way too long. I finally couldn’t stop myself and just needed to know what in the world she was talking about. She kept staring at me like I was going to grow another nose out the side of my face. Her response gave me pause and made me count the empty glasses in front of her, but there wasn’t one, and if I’m not mistaken, she’s only drinking water again. She’s probably on some new fad diet where all she can eat and drink are fancy types of water or something ridiculous like that. She looked me square in the face and told me.
“But they’re gone. I can’t even see a hint of a line around your eyes. Tell me you used some filler or something because there’s no way they just disappeared.”
What the hell was she talking about? I had just seen those fault lines myself not an hour before, and I thought back once again to make sure I hadn’t done anything different than my normal routine. There was nothing I could think of, and again I looked up to see if these were some miracle light bulbs they were using. All I could think to do was laugh it off, and the level of scrutiny my face was now getting from my entire group of friends was enough to make anyone uncomfortable. I finally just excused myself from the table and headed towards the bathroom. If anything were going to enhance my unwanted features, it would be that wonderful fluorescent harsh white lighting in there. Those mirrors don’t hide a thing and are too honest for their own good. I think many of them owe their ability to still be intact to the fear of seven years of bad luck from most women, or those evil contraptions would have met their destruction long ago.
Pulling myself up to the magic mirror of reality, I leaned in closer. It was impossible. She was right, though. Every last one of them was gone, and I’m not sure how that could have happened. Maybe it didn’t; perhaps none of this was happening right now, and I was dreaming instead. As I nearly fell through the looking glass in an attempt to be within a dog’s hair of the thing, the wetness from the faucet spreading across the bottom of my shirt and onto my skin was more than enough proof that I was indeed awake. How though? I pushed back from the reflection staring back at me, and I did look a good ten years younger because of it, and well, no matter how it happened, it sure did save me a small fortune at some doctor’s office to inject botulism under my skin voluntarily. So, there was that.
I looked closer once more, and they truly were gone. Now, if only my eyelashes were a bit longer. I should probably look into some extensions and think about that instead this weekend. Much more affordable and not at all permanent. I went into one of the stalls to deal with the business at hand, and when I found myself staring back at me this time, my lashes were longer. Not a tiny bit, like, okay, this lady is going crazy and seeing a whole millimeter of growth to her lashes in the time it took for her to use the restroom. No, these were what I had planned on paying for in the next couple of days. I ran my fingers through them, and they were real, my lashes, not some extensions glued to the edge of my eyelid. I had apparently just grown these by the thought alone. That’s not possible. Right?
Like I said before, I tend to make a decision and then make it happen, but this was the manipulation of my physical features with just a single thought. As I walked back to the table, I started to think of the idea of straight hair. It had been a nearly lifelong obsession of mine. It’s challenging to have curly hair, you don’t get much of a choice when it comes to hairstyles, and something like bangs, forget about it, not even in a curly-haired woman’s vocabulary. So the idea that I might be able to think my way into a head full of straight hair was extremely tempting. By the time I returned to the table, they all looked at me like I was some stranger.
“What the hell is going on here?”
The fine-line friend burst out at once—her expression flying from curiosity to anger in less than a second. The rest of their faces turned against me almost as quick as hers, a domino effect of angry friends over what I had to assume were my new found longer and fuller lashes. I can’t explain it to them, and I didn’t care to try. The last thing I needed was all of them to think I was crazy. I was already pretty close to that conclusion on my own and wasn’t feeling the need for a fan club to go along with it. So, when in doubt, feign ignorance.
“What do you mean?”
As I started to shake my head and hold up my hands, I caught my reflection in the mirror and realized very quickly that it wasn’t my lashes she’d noticed. My newly straight hair was swinging from side to side along with my head, and well, there was no way that was not noticeable. I have no idea how to explain this away. It’s not possible.
“What do you mean, what do I mean? Are you going to sit here and pretend like you didn’t just go to the bathroom and walk back here with straight hair? How did you even do that? I’ve watched you spend hours on your hair to get it this straight, and you’ve been gone from this table for what, ten minutes? What the hell is going on with you?”
I went to sit back down in my chair and thought better of it. I can’t explain this away. I smiled, lifted my hands, and shrugged my shoulders. Shaking my head again, I grabbed my bag and left. I couldn’t understand what was happening any more than they could, but I needed to get home to try and figure it all out. Disbelief was building up more and more, all while it couldn’t be anything other than real. I watched it happen. How the hell did this happen?
I caught myself having thoughts on the way home of things like, it would be nice to be a couple of inches taller. Then I’d pull up to a light and have to move my seat back an inch or so. Other thoughts would be along the lines of, couldn’t hurt if my skin was a little smoother too, or I could use a bit more color as well. By the time I got home, dozens of thoughts had flooded my mind. All of those things you think of over the years that you would have changed if you could, I think I might have thought them all.
As I walked through the door, there were things I noticed about myself that had already changed. I was a bit more tanned, my breasts were a little fuller, and my stomach was flatter. My still straight hair fell over the front of my shoulder, and I could see it was a completely different color than it had been before. All of these changes to my appearance were just thoughts in my head. By the time I reached the mirror, I didn’t recognize myself at all. No one would have known it was me. Staring back at what was there in front of me, I felt the twinge of pain, knowing I had felt the need to change so much of what I looked like, thinking that would change the person I was. I only found the sadness staring back at me. How could I have hated myself so much? I craved to be an entirely different person.
I’ve spent hours in front of that mirror now, changing the outer shell of this body that belongs to me. Creating new faces every hour, yet never fully satisfied with the final product. I even spent an entire hour trying to find the reflection I was familiar with and failing over and over again. I can hardly remember what I looked like before this all started a few days ago, and I can’t seem to find my way back to before it all started—every new thought creating a new person staring back at me. I can’t stop. I can’t stop until I can find myself in that reflection. I miss too much of who she was already, and I’m searching for just a glimpse of her again.
