day one
No foundation, in spite of my fear of people seeing what my complexion actually looks like. A tank top for the gym, in spite of my fear of people seeing the skin condition on my upper arms.
I think this all started in Japan. I'd never worn foundation before then, or bothered styling my hair in the mornings; but something about the notion of my own visibility, my own uniqueness, and all of those eyes that might have been looking at me, drove me to it. I started with tinted moisturizer and worked my way up to concealer + foundation + powder + blush etc. etc. in the space of a few months. Despite the protection that the makeup afforded me, I still felt this crushing fear of going outside, of being seen. A few mornings I actually cried at the thought. I called in sick once or twice and stayed home; staying home always felt better and, at the same time, immeasurably worse. I'd RSVP for social events and then stay home at the last minute. When I went shopping for clothing, I hardly ever found anything that fit; I ended up setting out little zones where I could shop for the things I needed. A store in the basement of some department store for foreign foods; the Gap in Minato Mirai, or various online stores, for clothes; the Clinique counter in Seibu department store for makeup.
I was trapped in my own neat box of self-loathing. I was miserable and I never told anyone, but I was so happy to come home. I could find clothes that fit me; I felt anonymous again when I walked around outside. (This must be related to when I was in high school, when I wore baggy clothes, men's shirts and hats, and hated being noticed by strangers.) I could be the cute one, the fashionable one, among certain groups of friends. But I still had to put on makeup to go anywhere; I still had to have a half-hour, or an hour, to prepare for anything. I still did, until yesterday.
This thing that I had and have, I don't know whether it's classifiably anything. It might just be a phobia. It might be Body Dysmorphic Disorder. It might be me obsessing, as we hysterical uterus-bearers like to do, over nothing. It might be some retarded Munchausen thing. But I can't let it be important to me. There are more important things in the world.
I woke up this morning, and washed my face, and looked at myself in the mirror, without makeup, 'すっぴん' as they say in Japan. I didn't look so bad. No foundation and a tank top. One day at a time.
I think this all started in Japan. I'd never worn foundation before then, or bothered styling my hair in the mornings; but something about the notion of my own visibility, my own uniqueness, and all of those eyes that might have been looking at me, drove me to it. I started with tinted moisturizer and worked my way up to concealer + foundation + powder + blush etc. etc. in the space of a few months. Despite the protection that the makeup afforded me, I still felt this crushing fear of going outside, of being seen. A few mornings I actually cried at the thought. I called in sick once or twice and stayed home; staying home always felt better and, at the same time, immeasurably worse. I'd RSVP for social events and then stay home at the last minute. When I went shopping for clothing, I hardly ever found anything that fit; I ended up setting out little zones where I could shop for the things I needed. A store in the basement of some department store for foreign foods; the Gap in Minato Mirai, or various online stores, for clothes; the Clinique counter in Seibu department store for makeup.
I was trapped in my own neat box of self-loathing. I was miserable and I never told anyone, but I was so happy to come home. I could find clothes that fit me; I felt anonymous again when I walked around outside. (This must be related to when I was in high school, when I wore baggy clothes, men's shirts and hats, and hated being noticed by strangers.) I could be the cute one, the fashionable one, among certain groups of friends. But I still had to put on makeup to go anywhere; I still had to have a half-hour, or an hour, to prepare for anything. I still did, until yesterday.
This thing that I had and have, I don't know whether it's classifiably anything. It might just be a phobia. It might be Body Dysmorphic Disorder. It might be me obsessing, as we hysterical uterus-bearers like to do, over nothing. It might be some retarded Munchausen thing. But I can't let it be important to me. There are more important things in the world.
I woke up this morning, and washed my face, and looked at myself in the mirror, without makeup, 'すっぴん' as they say in Japan. I didn't look so bad. No foundation and a tank top. One day at a time.