It’s 9:30am on Wednesday morning, and I think I am dead.
There is a real possibility that I am now a ghost-blogger and you’re all connecting with the departed in an entirely new way. Don’t forget to tag me in your tweets about this so I can get my five minutes of fame, even if it’s from the other side.
Can a person be both spent and untouched?
Can you feel exhausted and expired of all emotions and care, yet still feel as if you’re ignoring everything you feel and just stacking it one on top of the other like you’ve always done?
Maybe that’s what I mean by dead.
Like dead skin.
It’s skin that’s void of water and minerals, becomes dry, and cracks. It either sheds or it stacks one on top of the other, leaving that area of skin to appear dull and grey.
I am dead skin.
Or at least I am dead skin today.
Tomorrow, I might be three days post-microdermabrasion feeling bright and shiny.
I use Aveeno twice daily, so who knows what could happen.
But today, my skin is dead, and its stacking one on top of the other and its accumulating. Now I wait for it to flake off.
I woke up this morning feeling less than enthused for the day, and that’s bullshit because I have a lot to be thankful for. That’s all I’ll say.
But it makes it really hard for my skin to breathe when I’m lacking water and minerals. Sustenance. The stuff that keeps you alive.
I’m smothering under an ever-growing layer of dead shit. Of stuff that isn’t even alive anymore. Of stuff that isn’t giving me life or making me shine bright or even contributing to my happiness by asking about my day or telling me a joke or sharing it’s chocolate bar.
It’s just hanging on waiting for a jolt.
My nails taking action and scraping it away myself, which I never like to do, because it isn’t good for your skin and it also hurts.
But sometimes you have to intentionally cause pain in order to achieve what you want.
What you need.
Sometimes the force of life or circumstances aren’t enough to shake you free of what’s making you grey.
Sometimes having a routine cleanup, a microdermabrasion, isn’t enough to keep the dead skin at bay.
Sometimes you just have to whip out your claws and forcefully claw the cells off of you. Put them in their place, which is anywhere but on you.
Not because you want to add dust to your bathroom floor.
Not because you want your face to be red and agitated.
But because you just need to get it off.
To let your skin breathe.
To remember that you can remove something that doesn’t make you shine on your own.
You have that power.
And yes, it may hurt.
And yes, there might be a better, less painful way of getting the job done.
But at that moment, in your bathroom, your nails are what you had.
So you used them.
You used them before even thinking about the fact that the cause of the accumulation of dead skin just might be the weather.
When the temperature gets warmer and the humidity gets heavier, your skin won’t be as dry and in need of sustenance.
Your cells won’t be as quick to die and stack one on top of the other.
They’ll be nourished.
You didn’t think about that possibility.
Instead, you acted in that manner just in case.
Just in case the weather doesn’t get better anytime soon.
Just in case you’re left waiting, continuously smothering and becoming duller.
Before you lost your complexion entirely, you broke out your claws.
And you did it to save yourself.
Because, as it turns out, you are spent.
You just don’t appear to be.