The BS’ing Is Now Over, Or Almost Over, IDK, Maybe Not

Recently I have found myself scared about my social surroundings, about what could have been, daydreaming of the thousands of different lifestyle path, better decisions, and whatever my brain could attack me with during the past weeks. Could this be a blown-out, or could this be the medium I will tell my truth? Read along, and you might be able to find out, missed out, and frankly, I would not care if you read this or no because I do not know with certainty if you are or not reading this.

I am aware of the defensive mechanism used in the previous sentence. I want you to know that it is not my intention to disrespect this early into the topic.

Fear, for me, is many, many things including, the fear of going to sleep and missing that annoying morning alarm that aids me to wake up on time but not to time myself along with my morning routine. Sometimes fear come knowing that I am aloof of makeup but closed or almost-close friends with facial care nonsense that I still participate because that is what women speeding towards their thirty do. I hate having to do that “self-care” crap that is the most aggressive marketing on my social media newsfeed due to the tabu that if your skin is less than perfect is just best to throw your image in a bin. Honestly, I am fighting with my adult acne -which- is the greeting I receive when I encounter my friends. “Oh, look at your skin. I can barely remember your acne!” No love, I bet you can no longer remember my acne, but I can assure you that I do every single time I have to apply that $90 serum to burn the heck out of my face when I remember to pat it on your so often point of conversation.

Above and beyond that, ageing makes me cringe. If I add up how much I spend on my morning routine, it is not to joke with, but to cry a damn river with it, and only smarties from a Galaxy far away knows if all of it works. What is frighting is paying for a monthly membership to do facials and whatnot and not even pass by the establishment because I never put time aside to get my glow up. I am the one to blame for how dehydrated, pigmented, unattended my skin looks; I have every single lotion and potion to make it better, but who am I lying to, to you? 

I am not afraid of is the swashbuckling and lucid sense of creative style I transpired out of my pores when I was born. Destiny knew that I could care less about eyelash extensions and facial injections, but a bad hair day and an outfit could end me, destruction without measures. If my hair and clothes are against me, I will turn against the world even if it’s not their fault. Hunger taunts people to the extremes of an individual turning hostile, losing their tolerance for humanity; my case is the one mentioned above. I do not believe in staying up to trend and buying everything an IT girl showcases because a) I do not have the budget for it and b) as Miuccia Prada says, If I have done anything, it is to make ugly appealing. In fact, most of my work is concerned with destroying — or at least deconstructing — conventional ideas of beauty, of the generic appeal of the beautiful, glamorous, bourgeois woman. Fashion fosters clichés of beauty, but I want to tear them apart. And that is what I mirror every day, a goal of just following what my inner Fran Lebowitz would say and think and, of course, the impulse of fulfilling how my inner child would love to dress.

Years back, I was afraid of always being overdressed, or looking like a clown, being too avant-garde to the point people would not understand what was going on with me, running away from the stingy eyes. FOOLISHNESS! That fear is technically almost over. I dress however I please and feel even if my shyness is not engaging with me. I understood that fear was consuming me and pushing me away from what I love the most, fashion, playing dress-up, making myself rethink if I am overly dressed. Until the day that I realized I lacked inspiration towards myself, said fuck it, opened my wardrobe and chose the most voluminous outfit I have, owning the heck out of my fashion fantasies.

Can I even be saved from all this BS fear?

No, Really, Can I?

Oh, but let me start to say how distractions are the most inadequate nightmare. I know our phone keeps us connected to our loved ones, what we care about, and what we hate, but I am even considering hiding my phone from myself. I disabled all type of notifications. Only messages, emails, and calls come through; it just does not seem to detach from it! My holistic coach would be so massively disappointed by that last sentence, and I am too. The word unachieved and procrastination are as hot as Climate Change right now. Every person I talk to tells me how they have all these goals and dreams they want to achieve, and they have these agendas full of how they would take their measures to make sure everything is perfect, but no one starts working towards them. I am the least capable human to judge you, want to know why? I, myself, am full of crap; I put up monthly goals and planners and stuff to keep myself reminded of the things that I want to achieve. So far, I am only keeping up with my goal to pay off my car. What bothers me the most is knowing that I can do all the goals I put myself to achieve, but I panic with the idea of starting to work on them. Instead, I change productivity by binge-watching a series that involves the things I love, empowered woman, fashion, action, creativeness, and a little bit of realness. 

I set to embark on this new wave of not wasting any more precious time. I over-analyzed what my professor and professional peers have told me on multiple occasions you could be much greater if you would live your life without fear. I continued repeating in my head like vinyl with no possible pause, what fear? Looking over the horizon, it came to me. I was afraid of living, thinking of the worst possible outcome, on the world kicking my bottoms. I stopped living like my best self, not risking anything because I wanted my life to be cold and calculated, never won much, nor lose much. A life of boredom wanting more but never giving the extra mile. At times shoving myself, thinking that my ideas were not good enough, and further, they would come up to me to bully my efforts. This text might be more for me to see what up in my mind than for you to read it; who knows if you could find yourself identified with this. Honestly, this can go either way, an invitation for you to reflect on yourself or just some random words that cause nothing but revolt and self-pity. 

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