I began to believe that my beauty was the key to genuine love, and that genuine love would accompany my beauty. As a result, I began to use my mother’s cosmetics to try to cover my emotional wounds and appear to be someone that I was not.
As a young girl, all I could do was try to look beautiful and present myself as normal because I did not feel normal at all. In fact, I felt damaged, contaminated, and utterly destroyed because I was left alone to deal with the battle of being abused. I excelled academically, yet my stepfather told me that I was stupid and would never amount to anything. I was a virgin, yet he called me a whore. I was a child, yet he wanted me to perform the sexual acts of an adult. I was defenseless, yet he kept putting me in situations that required me to fight. I was innocent, yet he caused me to feel like I was sentenced to a lifetime of guilt.
I despised the things that my stepfather used to say to me, and the fact that I would feel like I was covered in dirt. Being a child, I could not comprehend why I was being targeted and could not imagine what I had done to deserve such disgusting and inexcusable treatment. My cry seemed to always fall upon deaf ears, and my grasp for help seemed to always return void. Although my mind was twisted and confused, I was certain that I never wanted other people to develop a similar perception or to echo similar statements about me. I felt confident that wearing a mask was my only way to survive in a life that was such a horrible reality. From this point, I knew that makeup would be my solution and allow me to bandage my emotional poverty.
Starting at the age of 11, I began to believe that I was worthless so makeup easily became my means to disguise my
18
I Choose to L.I.V.E.
pain and enabled me to sketch a beautiful life onto an empty soul. I would sneak and use my mother’s makeup to do the best that I could to make myself look pretty because I believed that the abuse had made me so ugly. I had learned about makeup by watching my mother so I was confident that I had enough skill to emulate her. I remember how I used to get chastised by my mother for always lying about wearing makeup. I would wipe off my makeup before I arrived home from school, but I did not realize that my red-stained lips and “raccoon eyes” were the keys to my guiltiness.
During those years, I always wished that I had a lock on my bedroom door to keep my stepfather from just walking in on me. On many occasions, I had to cover myself with only my two hands because he would time his uninvited entrance to catch me naked. My stepfather would also enter unannounced to expose his nude body to me. He would often position himself on top of me or next to me to try to initiate some level of intimacy between us. My stepfather was also adamant about kissing and would hold my face to prevent me from turning away. Beyond that, he would feel, grab, squeeze, and force his “impression” upon me at any time.
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