My therapist wants me to start wearing make-up and to do something with my hair again instead of just throwing it up in a bun now that my depression is in remission.

“But why?” I asked her. “I only go to the store or to the movies and out to lunch once a week.”

Besides, my dogs don’t give a rats ass if I’m wearing eye-shadow or if my hair is curly and adorable. I honestly don’t even think that my husband would notice.

“You need to do it for yourself, Mer,” she replied. “You got the haircut already, so now you can play around with the style. Show off your natural hair color!!”

“Dark brown, with silver highlights,” I replied, laughing.

“It looks great!”

“Thanks, J. I earned every one of these fucking silvers,” I said, trying not to sound too sarcastic.

It didn’t work.

I’ll share this tidbit with you. Most days, I don’t even bother to put on real clothes. I prefer to be comfortable, wearing a pair of pajama pants and one of my many tank tops. (I have hot flashes, but I’m not sure if it’s fibro related or the beginnings of menopause.)

If I get cold, I put on a sweatshirt or swaddle myself up in a blanket until I start sweating again.

But, she’s right. I haven’t cared about my appearance at all these last few years. My previously vain self took the midnight train to Georgia. I’ve avoided mirrors like I did in the 6th grade after one of the boys told me about Mary Worth.

mary-worth-and-bloody-mary
She’ll scratch your eyes out, kid.

J wrote me a list of things to buy.

Hair gel or mousse

Exfoliating facial wash

Oil-free moisturizer 

A nice shade of blush for my exceptionally pale complexion

I already have some eye-shadow and mascara that isn’t too ancient. I still own an eyelash curler. I don’t like the feeling of lipstick, I’ll end up wiping or licking it off. (Yum.) And as for foundation or powder, I can never find the appropriate color for my skin-tone(s).

Listen kids, always use sunscreen. Don’t do what I did and fry yourself under the sun like a piece of bacon.

After I left my session, I stopped at the drugstore to pick up some prescriptions. Then I went over to the beauty department, a place that I haven’t really visited in ages unless I needed shampoo, conditioner, body wash or deodorant.

The selection of products is overwhelming.

I found some hair gel, but everything else was a shit ton of money. I decided that I’ll have better luck at the Dollar General the next town over. (A dollar saved is…well, whatever. I’m broke, man.)

This whole endeavor to make myself feel pretty again is a work in progress. But if I don’t look absolutely ravishing at my next appointment with her this Saturday, I know that she’s going to be upset with me.

I guess that I need to prove to her that I clean up okay.

Maybe I also need to prove it to myself again.

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