I have this bad habit of thinking I’m still in my twenties. I think I can be forgiven for that because my life as I knew it came to a stop at 28, and when I woke up from that mental health nightmare I found I was in my forties. My friends were becoming grandmothers and that just completely freaked me out. I had intended to have children of my own in my thirties, but now somehow we had skipped a generation.
If you read my last post you’ll know why there isn’t a picture of me on here so that you can decide for yourself. I have good reasons but also I have somewhat of a fear of photos of myself. I think it’s part of the denial of my age, combined with some serious body image issues that created an eating disorder. I find it is just easier on my mental health if I avoid photos of myself. But it seems important to add that I don’t have quite the cleavage of the lady in the picture
This week I saw some photos of a friend I haven’t seen for a very long time. She is my age. There’s no denying that but I looked at the photos (as nice as they were) and wondered do I look as old as she does? Surely not. I mean no offence to my friend. She looked beautiful, but she looked… well, middle-aged. And surely I don’t look middle-aged? Do I? Yes I know things have kind of drooped, in a way that I’m not happy about. But I am far from ready to accept that title.
In my mind I am still young. And I promise you that I am not wearing a mini skirt as I type. I do realise I’m not young enough for those anymore. But middle-aged? Grandmotherly? No, I had enough trouble getting my mind around being told by a friend recently that I am motherly. Surely not! Please don’t suggest that.
No, I think I’m going to stay in denial and think I am 28 forever. That sounds like something Dr Suess would say but I frankly, I don’t care.
“There is the satisfaction of providing your public with a vision of true beautology,
true stylisity, – how can I put it? – true glamorositude.”
- WTF Emoticon Hook Pillow (neatorama.com)