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A short essay on the bald women
Someone asked me why the people in my work are bald. When I was younger I would hide my face with my hair. My hair is very wavy, and made hiding difficult. I would straighten the hair until it was straight and cut the bangs.
As I grew hiding my face in my hair became difficult, so I turned to other things to hide. Baggier clothing because useful, more so when I gained weight in college, more makeup, nyquil and painkillers, and becoming more and more reclusive as I hit my twenties. I would jump into friendships and impossible loves out of loneliness, and rarely keep up with them or the other party was just as lost and lonely as I.
I'm not very good talking, and I hate writing out what the whole purpose of my work is. I use the work as an examination of myself, with that I realize how awfully pseudo psychoanalyst that it. The women with the sagging breasts, the bald head, and the lumpy body are me. I've had people come to me and say that is nonsense, and the constant hate I give to myself drives most away. It's become hard to stop as that's what I see in the mirror.
After that I decided to stop being a whiney woman and draw and paint out what I feel. I feel the most raw when I'm painting or drawing. Not so much with writing for some reason. The nudity, fat, and baldness are a sigh of exposure. Doing away that what hides and showing what you are instead of hiding.
It's something i'm failing to do, and will probably never happen.