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Pain is Beauty.

The creams.

The needles.

The pastes.

The poking, pinching and picking.

The popping, cutting and sucking…all the painful, horrible and insanely demoralizing things we do to make ourselves beautiful! But for who? (Or is it for whom?) Whatever who really cares at this point I just want to know WHY? Why do we do it? Why do we spend a billion dollars and invest so much of our time and energy trying to make ourselves perfect? Make our person perkier or thinner or smoother in all the right places? Why do we think pain is beauty?

Or just be different than the woman we were meant to be…

Fuck, someone tell me why?  

So, as I look into the 100X magnifying mirror on my counter (that I bought for the sole purpose of examining my ten thousand imperfections) I think, ”What can I correct next?” It must be my age that makes me buy the latest (and most expensive) cream for wrinkles or takes me to the Dermatologist to laser away my sun-damaged skin. Maybe I’m feeling insecure because I can’t compete with the younger editions of “me” out there? Or is it because I’m back in the dating world…Is that my M.O? I feel the need to stab my face with Botox-filled needles to erase all the years of heartache and despair. (Ha. Yes, do it! Inject away all the emotion!) Is she happy, is she sad? At this point…we just can’t tell.

Fuck, why can’t I just be satisfied with the woman staring me back in the mirror?