It’s easy to make a woman disappear. I should correct myself, it’s easy to make the woman you are disappear. In the age of information parts of us are drawn in and lost forever. It’s easy to become a large mass of nothing, no, not a large mass, a tiny speck of dust lost in insignificance. So forget it, these things don’t matter, you can become whoever you decide to be.
Life is too short to live just one life, you always wanted more.
It’s time to wrap yourself under layers, forget the mirror. Forget the mirror. Forget the folds when you pinch your sides, the days you spend wishing some parts of you will melt away, or disappear, pinch your neck, your arms, your thighs, take everything out. As a young girl you wished you could use knives to make it all disappear, you used markers on your body like you saw on TV, large straight lines around your belly, by the sides where your stomach stuck out. You even got a razor but did not make it past the first cut.
The more devastated you got with not losing it all, you turned back to food. The vicious cycle of frustration. You tried it all, eating meals in front of the mirror, your fingers deep in your throat, the end of your toothbrush, anything to take it all back out. Pretty could make you happy. Pretty will make you happy.
This was all before you discovered the internet, started avoiding mirrors, retreated into yourself, didn’t stick around with family except it was necessary. You found the internet, filled with strangers, strangers much like the ones in school. The people still consumed with their own worlds but this was different, here you controlled perceptions, they saw only the parts of you that you wanted. Nothing more. It wasn’t intentional, you put up a profile picture of some woman you found on the internet, then some admirers, then more pictures, more messages. More people laughing at your jokes, paying attention because beautiful makes things worthy of being heard.
You became a master at manipulation, like that one time you told Matt whom you met off the internet site about the film project you were working on at Koma hills, all made up, about the children in a forgotten primitive place, about the smile of the little girl. He was so excited, sometimes you think you are their gift. They live through you.
Everyone just wants to feel good, it’s like some sort of drug, they want interest. In this world of tedium we all deserve some escape, so you give it to them, you give as much as you possibly can, telling them stories of where you’ve been and what you’ve seen, and more importantly listening, you tell them they can do anything. In your defense sometimes you believe they can.
He tells you about his mother, you tell him about your father, you let a little out, build trust because that’s how connections are made.
The hard part is when they become unsatisfied with the woman behind the screen, with the perfect picture. We want more because we are human, or we are human because we will always want more. This is never enough, they want to meet up, to feel the person. This is the wish you cannot give, and you must know when to end this, know how to turn away the insistence, tune down the conversations.
It all thins out eventually.