I would have loved to take an hour to pick up an outfitt. But I don’t care enough anymore. I didn’t change twice, I wore what I wore all day. I didn’t think about what shoes I should wear. Flats. I brushed my hair quickly. Didn’t bother putting perfume on my neck, somewhere between my ears and my shoulder. I even forgot to moisturize my lips.
Anyways he was not from here and was about to leave. So, we would basically meet, speak, leave then adios. Keep in touch on our birthdays when facebook will remind us. If we add eachothers as friends. Otherwise, he was kind of cool.
French music in the background, I asked that he doesn’t take the beer named like my mom. The place was nice, but empty. As I wondered why I even bother meeting with people that I know won’t stay, I remembered that it is the exact reason why. When you know things won’t work and people are going to leave, you care less, you don’t fear pain. Fact.
I looked up to see if he had blue eyes or brown eyes and I saw that thing on the wall. A giant painting. Chubby cheeks and round body. Black on white. A giant Russian doll was staring at me.
»Leave me alone, judgmental Russian doll », I thought
I could barely hear what my friend was saying. I smiled and acknowledged here and there, all I could think about was the Russian doll. I almost heard her accent telling me:
‘’ Your opinion is of no importance to me. ‘’ and I hated her for that.
She also reminded me of that French movie ‘’ Les poupées Russes’’. The main character compares his love life to a Russian doll, he has to the open each dolls until he reaches the last one. The good one.
But, What if you get to the last doll and you still don’t feel THE thing. I froze. I felt shivers up my spine and a pinch in my chest. My heart stopped beating in my chest, instead it was beating right between my ears. Fuck you French movie, fuck you Russian doll painting.
I managed to get back to my friend and followed the conversation until he went to the bathroom. I was left there, alone, the Russian doll smirking at me. I tried to look around, there were plants, cactus in wooden boxes, the waiter was cleaning a table with a lifeless face. Maybe the Russian doll stole his soul.
-‘’You’re okay?’’ ,he asked
(No. I am not okay. The Russian doll gives my anxiety. She reminds me how we, sometimes, sabotage our own happiness. She reminds me how hard 2017 is for overthinking hopeless romantic ladies. She reminds me that I can say I am strong, be strong feel strong, that I don’t need anyone, that time will do things and all that jazz we repeat after reading it in spiritual life blabla books, still once in a while, fear is stronger.
She reminds me that I am studying nutrition but still ate 5 cheesecakes bars today. She is clearly playing some fucked up game with my head right now, look at her. Look at her.
She wants me to open her layers until I get to the end, so that she can laugh at how I get more and more affraid each time one of her layer is not the good one. Or maybe she wants me to open all of my layers until none are left. Until I become so vulnerable that I will be the smallest ever.
She takes all of the place. The entire wall. My whole vision. And if I ask someone to remove her, or if I change place, she will still be there. At the back of my head, with her stupid chubby cheeks and her smirking smile telling me that maybe there is better under, but maybe this is it. That I should excel in every aspect of my life. That I should be stronger, stonger always stronger.
I hate her. I hate everything she is. Everything she represents to my eyes at this exact moment. And right now, this is the beginning of a panic attack, an anxiety you can’t understand, because to you this is just a stupid painting and I am, right now, an over drama queen who is freaking about this painting, imagining that its only purpose is to remind me things I tend to push away. Fuck you, Russian doll.)
-‘’ Sure, just a little tired ‘’, I smiled