The Snow Queen

April 27, 2015 § Leave a comment

  

About a week and a half ago I was sitting on the side of the street downtown with a Perrier bottle filled with wine, eating dollar store sour keys. I know I bought cigarettes and visited my old place of work and who knows if I stayed vertical, or what the fuck I said to my old colleagues.

I’m a mess and my confidence is in the toilet. I still like the hot mess look, or what my brother likes to call dumpster chic. My boyfriend’s been upset with me because I only wear oversized sweaters and who knows how many layers. Despite thinking I look like I don’t give a fuck, I know I exude a sad sack train wreck. Whatever your head space, somehow it just melts out of your body, your expressions. That’s one of the main things I’ve learned in therapy. That I’m a liar in all that I do, that I am. That I come across as superior, and yet, also I hate everything about myself. How do I fix myself when I still so strongly believe that I can’t hack it, that I’m not special? I’m two people, this arrogant fast talking bitch and still that girl with running mascara tears, drunk on the side of the road. I’m both of these people, and I have a hard time acknowledging the parts of myself that are so disgusting and evil and rude.

I have a hard time with the idea of vanity, the idea that I’ve been vain and judgmental, painting my face and starving my body. It’s not loving myself and how I look, it’s a necessity in my life. I can’t imagine ever going out in public around strangers with a naked face or showing any of my imperfect body, let alone anyone who I’m familiar with who will remember and use it against me. I have never worn a two piece bathing suit and haven’t worn a one piece since my swimming days when I was, at the oldest, 12. As long as I look okay, that I come across in a certain way, feelings are nonexistent. They don’t count. I still refuse to believe that I can’t just decide to be okay. I should be able to choose to be happy and productive always. Which is robotic. I hate being human and I try whatever I can to avoid it.

I’ve always loved that in fairy tales, the evil women with some kind of vanity thing about them, the evil mirror. The obvious example is the queen in Snow White, but I always loved Hans Christian Anderson’s sad stories. The little mermaid and her need for love of a man, even if she couldn’t speak and she received legs to be with him even though it felt like daggers everytime she stepped. She looked fine, and the pain, both physical and emotional was second to everything. The Snow Queen and the evil mirror that warped everything to be seen as evil and deformed, shattered pieces getting into eyes and transforming everything they saw for the rest of their lives, entering their hearts and changing their perception and experiences of the rest of the world and its people forever.

I wonder if I always loved these stories because I identified with them. My perceptions and ideas of the world always distorted and ugly, including myself. It’s funny that I so deeply want to feel above being human and yet there’s this incredibly human quality in evil, like Snow White’s queen and the Snow Queen, wanting to ruin anything good for the sake of evening out the playing field. Superior in their ability to destroy emotions in others because they so hate their own. As long as I can pretend to be unfeeling and attempt a perfect outside impression, I can crush you.

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