Mirror, mirror... I am no Adonis

I read of girl who once refused to look in a mirror for an entire year. It bothers me that at the thought of the very prospect of emulating her, I become terrified.

Vanity! It runs in my veins. I can appreciate the beauty of another. I can see someone as human, with feelings, thoughts, fears, loves, and imaginations. I, however, can only appreciate what cold, unfeeling surfaces reflect of me when I wish to appraise me. It's a bitter truth. I feel most vulnerable when I admit it.

Of course I have worth. Of course I am attractive, sexy, and whatever else is supposed to matter! So are you. But can we face our admirable qualities if we were to strip ourselves naked in front of the nearest looking glass? Mirror is a harsh material, and I am an unrelenting critic.

Why is it so hard to love yourself in the same ways that others love you?

We have so much to fight against. Fashion, video games, porn, movies, art, history... These are just a few things that inform me, a gay man, of how I'm "supposed" to look. It's paralyzing to realize just how pervasive their messages are... But there is little I can do, save I just be me.

Once upon a time, I was anorexic in just about every sense of the word minus the official diagnosis. I'd eat hardly anything, and pound away on a treadmill for hours at a time. I hated myself for what I did there, and it's been scary and weird trying to build a trusting, loving relationship with food and exercise ever since. I'm not good at this, but I'm trying.

I'm trying to accept the man I am. I'm trying to accept that my ideal is, well, an unknown ultimate. A magazine can't tell me what I'll look like when I'm healthy. The internet can't tell me either. Even my friends can't give me what I'm looking for. This is about how I perceive myself, and only I can give myself the green light to live and reject the ideals projected by popular culture.

And after everything, if I give in to pressures and forces outside my control, the thing that will surprise me most is that I was me the whole time. My hair might be longer or shorter. My body toned or not so much, depending on how much I exercise. Perhaps I will have wrinkles, or yellow teeth, or something else so human that it's deemed airbrush worthy. Wherever time takes me, a person I was waiting to be will have always been locked up inside. I wouldn't ever live fully, because I was waiting to be, well... beautiful.

But perhaps I can make my own kind of beautiful now. Perhaps I can celebrate what is me, and what will be mine now and always. Maybe there is a person out there who finds me interesting, worthy of love, who needs me and wants me no matter the mirror.

I was crushed by a mirror today, metaphorically speaking. This is just a matter of getting back up, and walking away from years of worthless, self-destructive rubble. I forgive myself, love myself, and never wait to live. Keys open locked doors, not mirrors.