I don’t like change. Never have. But sometimes change is thrust upon me. The things I hate to change most are related to my face. I am not pretty or beautiful or usual looking. In addition to this, I have bad skin – pale with lots of scarring and dark marks*, red, brown, purple lumps. When I find a make-up I can get to stay on and cover these things, I cherish it and buy in bulk. Some of the great upsets of my life have been connected with discontinued foundation. At the moment I am struggling with a discontinued lipstick. Not as bad as a foundation, but still unsettling. Why? Well usually I don’t get upset about lipstick or eye shadow. But I am. And I realise why: my Mum.
I am currently scared of changing things from as they were when my Mum was alive. But I’ve changed a lot of stuff, but things to do with my face and hair I can’t change. I have a new coat, and shoes, and bag. New tops. But I can’t change my hair style. I really want to. My head is uncomfortable. I’m too scared to change it. I’m scared bad things will happen. Really bad things. And that’s where the lipstick comes in. I’ve been looking for a colour match for 4 months. Watching my remaining nub of waxy colour diminish. I’ve colour swatched across London. Nothing. But today I had a break through. I was very cold, very tired and a little angry. I went into a shop and tried on a colour I’d not considered at all. It didn’t look terrible. I felt relieved. I felt light and happy. I sprayed myself with a random perfume (I NEVER DO THAT) and headed out into the dark night.
I won’t buy the lipstick, it didn’t do much for me and was very expensive. But at least I know what not to buy. That is a breakthrough: I have a big pile of lipsticks I bought (over years) thinking they’d be ok and didn’t try them because I was scared to – embarrassed in the shop etc. particularly department stores. I may buy the perfume when I qualify for the necessary mortgage.
My Mum was always the one to tell me if I looked ‘okay’ (by my standards, which she understood). She checked the spots I couldn’t see on my right side, or neck, were covered. She brushed the dandruff off my shoulders. When I did things to my hair, she checked the back. She did all the Mum things. I don’t have anyone to do that now, and being half blind and having self-esteem so small you need NASA lenses to help you find it, means I’m nervous leaving the house nearly all the time. I can deal with it, but now and then it falls on me and crushes me. Not having the right lipstick, or having wonky hair, can ruin a day for me, can breed anxiety as powerful as a Pitbull. But today I felt a little glimmer of hope. Hope in a tube I had the balls NOT to buy.
*I am not a Death Eater. For some unknown reason, though I am pale skinned, I have keloid scarring and very dark patches of skin on my face. I scar a dark brown or purple. No one can tell me why. I know Keloid scarring is connected to EDS, but the colouring foxes people. They don’t address it, though I think it should be addressed – not because of vanity – but because of Lupus. Lupus is in my family. Cancer is in my family. You can see what I’m thinking re: dark patches. One day someone may look at them – I am leaving my body to medical science.