As I stand in front of the mirror putting the final touches on today's look, something just doesn't feel right. At first I can't figure out what exactly the problem is. From head to toe everything looks just how I'd wanted when I first started getting ready. Not a single hair is out of place. But it just feels wrong today.
I look down at my skirt, wishing that the vibrant colors of the stripes would give me that usual feeling of confidence. I mean, I love vibrant colors - my room is filled with them after all. As I ponder the cause of my distress, some inner voice tells me that the colors aren't the problem. It's then that it hits me: I feel like I'm hiding behind my carefully crafted appearance.
I look down at my skirt, wishing that the vibrant colors of the stripes would give me that usual feeling of confidence. I mean, I love vibrant colors - my room is filled with them after all. As I ponder the cause of my distress, some inner voice tells me that the colors aren't the problem. It's then that it hits me: I feel like I'm hiding behind my carefully crafted appearance.
I didn't pick this skirt for it's pretty colors. I chose it because its length would cover my legs. And this blouse, it may be sleeveless, but it too was carefully chosen. Loose material can hide many flaws. And when did I start using such a heavy hand with my cosmetics? Sure I've always liked playing with different eye shadows and lipsticks, but now I can hardly recognize myself behind it all. And the wig? It seemed like just what I needed when I first bought it. Now... I don't know anymore.
I think I've reached a turning point. I tired of hiding. It's exhausting. And I'm not ashamed. Self-conscious? Yes, a little. Ashamed? No.
I decide once and for all, right then and there, standing in front of my bedroom mirror. No more hiding.
And I head back to my closet to change. I feel like a butterfly shedding her cocoon. Completely changed. I also feel a little raw... exposed... at first. It is a bit scary, but I'm ready to step outside.
Who cares if my legs a little too skinny? Not me, not any more. These legs can still carry me where I need to go. So I'm proudly wearing shorts, to show them off.
Who cares if my torso is thin enough that you can see a few ribs? These ribs have continued to protect my heart, which is still beating in my chest. Yeah, I'm still alive. So I'm going to wear my favorite tank even if it shows how extremely thin I've become.
And who cares that my hair is still mostly peach fuzz as it's starting to re-grow on my scalp? I can be bald and beautiful. So I'm tossing my wig. I'll almost certainly welcome my longer locks back as the hair grows, but I'm proud of the little bit of hair I have now. It's almost like a declaration that I'm through the worst part - it only gets better from here. I don't need to cover it up until it grows to an acceptable length. I think it's pretty now.
I'm just happy to be alive. This life is too short to waste my time trying to put on a false front, all because I'm worried about a few curious stares.
So I hold my head high as I walk by the neighborhood park full of children laughing and playing. I keep it held high as I pass the cute guy that just moved in down the street. I even keep it up as the curvy bombshell next door narrowly avoids jogging straight into a tree due to a lack of attention. She was staring at me instead of watching where she was going. It's surprisingly easy to laugh off the slight embarrassment.
No matter what comes my way, I'll keep my head held high. Because this is a new day, a new me.
I think I've reached a turning point. I tired of hiding. It's exhausting. And I'm not ashamed. Self-conscious? Yes, a little. Ashamed? No.
I decide once and for all, right then and there, standing in front of my bedroom mirror. No more hiding.
And I head back to my closet to change. I feel like a butterfly shedding her cocoon. Completely changed. I also feel a little raw... exposed... at first. It is a bit scary, but I'm ready to step outside.
Who cares if my legs a little too skinny? Not me, not any more. These legs can still carry me where I need to go. So I'm proudly wearing shorts, to show them off.
Who cares if my torso is thin enough that you can see a few ribs? These ribs have continued to protect my heart, which is still beating in my chest. Yeah, I'm still alive. So I'm going to wear my favorite tank even if it shows how extremely thin I've become.
And who cares that my hair is still mostly peach fuzz as it's starting to re-grow on my scalp? I can be bald and beautiful. So I'm tossing my wig. I'll almost certainly welcome my longer locks back as the hair grows, but I'm proud of the little bit of hair I have now. It's almost like a declaration that I'm through the worst part - it only gets better from here. I don't need to cover it up until it grows to an acceptable length. I think it's pretty now.
I'm just happy to be alive. This life is too short to waste my time trying to put on a false front, all because I'm worried about a few curious stares.
So I hold my head high as I walk by the neighborhood park full of children laughing and playing. I keep it held high as I pass the cute guy that just moved in down the street. I even keep it up as the curvy bombshell next door narrowly avoids jogging straight into a tree due to a lack of attention. She was staring at me instead of watching where she was going. It's surprisingly easy to laugh off the slight embarrassment.
No matter what comes my way, I'll keep my head held high. Because this is a new day, a new me.
Hello world! Here I am! This is the real me!
***This Super-Short Story was written as a part of a SimsWriters.com writing challenge. The theme of the challenge was "Turning Points". The next challenge is scheduled to be announced on April 2nd, so if you're interested in joining the fun keep an eye out for that. And sign up for SimsWriters if you haven't already. There is enough participation in this upcoming challenge, there could a prize for the winner.***