Posted on February 18th, 2013
We were all born with our face as a clear canvas ready for the artist of life to create a masterpiece based on our decisions.
A young, fresh, innocent face with bright eyes that are so eager to see the rest of the world that we are yet to experience. As a youngster I was so unaware that I became a sponge, absorbing all of the information that was hurled at me by the world.
As a teenager everything that I once believed and accepted was questioned. Society pushed questions at me so that all that used to be constant and stable became uncertain. I wasn’t beautiful enough for the world. I wasn’t talented enough for the world. I wasn’t successful enough for the world. If I wasn’t any of these things to the world then what was I to the world?
Who was I?
Desperate to understand myself and to figure out what I would stand for, I looked deeply into my eyes, looking hard, longing to understand.
Those years of looking led me to not being able to look my own reflection in the eye anymore. I had looked too long, too hard and was left even emptier than before.
My years of motherhood are carefully recorded with the crinkles on my brow which became apparent as I tried to discern right for wrong for my children. The happiness that my children brought me softened my heart greatly, allowing the piercing ice crystals that had collected on my heart during my years of mistakes to slowly melt.
My husband’s showering love was enough to mend my now softened heart but the etches on my face will remain forever like a tattoo that cannot be removed.
I now sit as an aged woman with a calm and comforted heart with an air of serenity surrounding me and entering my every breath. Alzheimer’s begins to control me but the memories recorded on my face serve as constant reminders of my past.
I now look at my reflection and see my life before me. The wrinkles surrounding my eyes show the laughter that the joy of my childhood brought. My frown lines are so deeply grooved that my many years of sorrow, depression and heart break as a misunderstood teenager are hidden in between the folds like well kept secrets. All of my mistakes are plotted carefully within the creases of my face.
The creases on my face are like the roads on a map of my life showing where I took a wrong turn and show how that led me to becoming lost entirely.
My past is permanent and to this day I cannot look my own reflection in the eye without seeing the crease of my mistakes that so heavily frame my eyes.