I always knew I had narcissistic tendencies. I like a mirror, providing the reflection is just of my head and shoulders, the lighting is complementary and my body is tilted just enough to show a little bit of collarbone or would do if I was naked. I like photographs too, providing it is just of my head and shoulders, the lighting is complementary and my body is tilted just enough to show a little bit of collarbone or would do if I was naked. My Myeloma has made me realise just how self loving I am, when I am not worrying about death, the majority of my concerns are about losing my identity, the things I like about me. My appearance is the main issue. I am not deluded, I do not have a great deal to work with, I look too much like Haemo Dad to be a beauty, but I work with what I have and most the time, I can pull it off, even with the stomach. Lipstick helps. Lipstick will have to be my saviour when I am bald with a prickly beard.
These thoughts must have been going through my mind for a few weeks, because I was just going through my camera roll and I have come across several photographs of myself pouting. Perhaps I wanted evidence of my hair and colour before they disappear with strong chemotherapy. Perhaps I was planning to make a collage for my Mum. Perhaps I just wanted to look at myself.
Think I am exaggerating? Think again…
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Seductive work mode
Bad hair for a large person
Come to me please
Thin hair. Thin hair. Thin hair. Pale lips.
Animal. Wild animal.
Wearing an animal.
Lipstick error. Not through snogging.
Steroid face. Bloated steroid face.
Farmer’s wife
Shiny Instagram
I’m not really sure what is happening here.
Somebody is tired, and maybe a little bit nauseous, oh and constipated. I just love chemotherapy.
I wonder what it all means…
I am so sorry that you had to see this, but I thought it was only fair that you see what I put up with.
