28 October 2006

My Halloween Costume - An Insecure Girl

I used to love Halloween. I still love it. I feel as though my level of enthusiasm is dwindling though. I feel my level of enthusiasm is dwindling on a lot of little things recently. I suppose you can say that I am in a bit of a funk to say the least. I am not going out this Halloween. I didn’t go out last year either. This, I admit, saddens me.

Back home, it’s always “back home…”, I used to do it up right. Sure, I never had a concrete plan for my costume. I rushed around just like everyone else, putting my costume together at the last minute. I always came up with something, whether it was good or not. The last costume I wore for Halloween back home was Rosie the Riveter – the “You can do it!” poster girl. Some thought I was a mechanic. One customer at work thought I was a farmer. The frustrated but dirty minded business men, the majority of my customers at the store, thought I was plain ol’ sexy. My last costume here was Vampira. Basically, I looked like myself with more extreme eyebrows and a little more pale than normal. Still, it was all in good fun.

Now, my costume is a pair of pajamas on a Saturday night and bed-head hair. Oh, and a little patch of stress induced acne on my face. I am alone and I can’t shake this stupid sense of blue.

I have been feeling so far from sexy lately. I don’t have the greatest skin and I thought it was something that I worked through. I thought I accepted it. I know I did back home. Regardless of the scars on my face and the few nasty break outs, I still had people complimenting me and appreciating my beauty. I know I shouldn’t rely on the observations of strangers. It shouldn’t constitute my mood. If I am simply not happy with myself, no amount of compliments and sly glances will make me be that constant and happy person. But here in this city, I don’t see it. Have I built a wall so thick that no one can see me at my best? My partner does and that’s what truly matters. He sees me for my beauty. He loves me. He doesn’t care if my face looks like hell. He doesn’t care if I lounge around a little too long in my clothing that eventually looks like pajamas on my body. The others, those random strangers, see nothing. I have lived here for two and a half years and only caught two strangers checking me out. It’s not like I want people to ogle me every moment of the day. I don’t. I get the other side of the stick. Call me paranoid, but I see the way a lot of people look at me when I am on the subway or walking down the street. They look at me like I am ugly. They look at my short painted nails. They see how tired I look. They notice the quality of my skin. They see my skin. I know they do this. I have been laughed at on the subway in the past. Sure, they were kids and kids will always be jerks. Once, I heard someone say that it isn’t my fault that I am so ugly and I was paralyzed. I couldn’t turn around like I wanted to and say fuck you. Fuck you in your stretch jeans and fuck you in your retro 80’s look and fuck you with your boyfriend in his saggy assed jeans. Fuck you. I got off at my stop and shut down. I walked to work with tears in my eyes. What feels worse – to be called ugly practically to your face or to be silenced by the ignorance of teenagers?

It’s been a long time since I completely dolled myself up. It’s been a much longer time since I dolled myself up in new clothes. I haven’t been shopping in ages. I am very reserved with money because I don’t make much. I don’t know how long my job will last and we have to eat. I have to pay my bills. I can’t be carefree with my money like before – have I ever been carefree with it anyway? If something happens with my work situation, I can’t rely on anyone else. My partner is a musician. I’m glad he is doing what he loves but I worry. Overall, I am glad he is doing what he loves rather than making tons of cash while being absolutely miserable. I’m envious of that, I admit.

I want to be taken out and I want to wear that dress. You know that dress that stops you dead in your tracks as a mumbled “wow” spills from your mouth. I want to be lusted after. I want to walk into a room with that dress and have my partner drop his jaw. I want to beam and light up that room. It just seems that I don’t have that in me lately. I feel plain and invisible. My skin looks like hell. My options of doing my hair consists of wearing it in a pony tail or not (at least my bangs look good still). My clothing is all old. I am uptight. I can’t be comfortable and tell me when I had my last true belly laugh with a friend here? Tell me when I laughed so hard I had tears coming out of my eyes with a friend here? Tell me when I talked so comfortably with a near stranger with that certain openness? Let’s just say, it’s been a hell of a long time.

I want flowers.

I know all of this probably sounds pretty awful of me. I have a great partner who makes me feel loved and beautiful no matter what. God, he even puts up with all my wacko emotions. I’m very grateful for him. He thinks the world of me. I’m just not happy with myself and I’ve always been like this. For the life of me, I don’t know how to get over this mountain of insecurity I build for myself.

I have distanced myself from a lot of things here. I know it’s my own fault. I know I should have learned French by now. Knowing French would probably make things a lot less uncomfortable and awkward for me. It’s been two years and who can I call a true friend here? It seems like whenever I meet another women that I feel I connect with, something stupid and dramatic happens and I am just back to being acquaintances with them. I’m lonely. It sounds pathetic but it’s true.

I feel like it has been a long time since I could say I had an amazing night. I can’t seem to let loose here. I’m so bloody reserved, it makes me sick. I feel a tug of envy when I go to these shows and see everyone having a blast. Everyone is drunk and everyone is laughing and here I am – stuck in the middle of it all, trying to smile naturally. I hear about how great nights were, how much fun was had by all. When was my last great night, surrounded by friends and laughs and drinks and smartassery? I can’t let loose here. Back home, I was on fire. I went dancing and I had a circle of friends. I ogled women with my guy friends. I got ready with my girlfriends for a night of painting the town red. I had my set of private jokes with close friends. I had a sister nearby to console me if my world was falling apart or if I needed someone to annoy like only a little sister can do. We recently had a friend stay here from a far away city. I found myself talking to her and saw her zone out. Am I this boring? Do people no longer get serious conversation? I felt awkward yet again. I felt I still had nothing interesting to say. I feel so one dimensional lately. I make small talk and jokes at work and no one gets it (except my “team leader”).

Is this the difference between the English and French in humourous conversation? You don’t realize how lonely it is actually is when you live in a place that is difficult to make the simplest of small talk and passing jokes. Some days, I just want to make a random comment or compliment to a stranger and I hold back. City folk are different here, busy and rushed. And it is the language barrier. I used to loathe small talk and all those hellos from strangers downtown. Now, I long for it. I sit on the same subway car every morning, with the same people. There are no smiles of recognition. Back home, we’d call each other intimate strangers by now. I remember the first time a stranger here made small talk with me in the grocery store. I could have given him the biggest hug for those brief words. It was about soup and tofu but it made my week. I existed in this random city, this random grocery store. He took a minute out of his day to be friendly to another stranger. I truly appreciate his gesture. It made me very happy and his soup suggestion was a fantastic one at that!

Everything is layering up on me yet I am still so cold.


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