Breaking Up With Time

I do not trust you anymore.
You are not nice.
I don’t care how good we used to be together. You are sly and you are sneaky, and you are hurting me.
I go to sleep and you do horrible, cruel things to my body.
The damage you have inflicted on my body, especially over the past year is unbelievable.
Your actions are silent, so I didn’t even realize what you have been up to lately, not until I went into the bathroom to take a shower. I catch a glimpse of myself naked in the new full-length mirror. My first reaction is shock. My second reaction is grief. Tears join the shock and the grief.
When I see what you have done to my backside, I begin gasping for air. My cute little behind is gone, just totally gone. Two empty sacks have replaced the flesh I had considered mine. The backs of my legs resemble cottage cheese that has gone bad. Real bad.
Yes, I lost too much weight, but did you have to twist and punch everything I have left?
The only body parts you haven’t dominated yet are from below my knees to my ankles. (I just checked to make sure you didn’t re-sculpt them while I was writing.)
My hair, my feet, my legs, my breasts, my arms, my neck, my face, my ears, every day I find new damage.
I would like to say I am above pride in my physical appearance, but that would be a lie. I’ve never been a beauty, cute I’m always told, but cute and undamaged was good enough for me.
I trusted you for so long. You were mostly kind to me. You treated me with respect, and you were gentle with my body, for over sixty years.
I was aware that you had a bit of a mean streak, but I trusted you anyway.
Yes, there were many red flags, but I ignored them.
I was only thirty-six when I told you, “I like the grey streaks you painted in my hair. My mom had the same streaks, so I wear them with pleasure.”
You smirked, and I should have left you in the dust right then, but I didn’t.
When you pulled my hair out a few years later, I adjusted. It was never abundant anyway and as it thinned out, I just pinned it up. I asked you to stop and you just smirked, again.
You kicked the heck out of my spine long ago, so I knew you could be extremely cruel, but I thought we had leveled out, reached an agreement to be kind to each other.
When my breasts deflated, almost overnight, I said, “Oh well. I can live without plump breasts and long, flowing hair,” and then, I threw my stupid bras away.
Last summer my young grandson said to me, “Grammy, your arms are wrinkled and soft like Jell-O.” He poked one to show me.
I looked down and sure enough, it was true. Why hadn’t I noticed?
Not done yet, you had redesigned my arms.
I explained to him that it was nicer to tell a woman what was right about her, instead of what was wrong. I told him I was getting older. We agreed to close the subject of my jiggledy arms, and he gave me a hug. I was even proud of myself for handling the discovery so well.
However, my backside is the last straw and now I see that pulling my hair out wasn’t even enough for you.
My hairdresser told me last week that my fake blonde hair is breaking off by the handfuls, no more blonding it. Blonde has been my disguise for thirty years, you jerk.
As I have slept, you’ve ravaged me. You’ve reworked one body part at a time, and I was blissfully unaware that you were indulging your freakish addiction to playing sculptor with my body.
You have gone too far, my old friend.
I’m breaking up with you at once, while I can still walk and still have clothes that fit.
TIME, you can go play your ruthless games somewhere else.
P.S. I placed the mirror on the other side of the bathroom door too. Just in case TIME doesn’t honor the break-up. I have a feeling that I’m going to need a restraining order.


20 thoughts on “Breaking Up With Time”

  1. Awesome post, My Dear!!! Read this to my wife and we both cracked up!! She is 75 but I think she has made a side agreement with Time. People do a double take when they look at her driver’s license. They guess her at least 15 years younger. Not quite a Dorian Gray deal but sort of! LOL! I really Love Your writing!!!
    xoxo 💖🌹😊

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I can relate to that. At the age of 67, most of my body looks as if it should belong to someone else.
    (At last in my mind)
    Many thanks for following my blog, which is appreciated.
    Best wishes, Pete.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Hysterical and not true, you are beautiful…I’m jealous of your small frame and your youthful glow…you still look like the youngest sister…and yes we all need to stop coloring our hair as I too found out…you are beautiful inside and out. Smash that mirror and buy one that is too small to lie to you…you look 50..
    love you, your sister, Susanne


  4. This is too wonderful, My Dear!!! I have similar feelings as well. In my opinion Time is cruel and my body works with it against me as a “Judas”!! You are also right about the Mirror too!! Bellissimo!!
    xoxo 💖💖🌹🌹😊

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Wonderful post how time sneaks up on us and shocks us into reality but like Aunt Mary said in Thorn Birds, paraphrasing of course, I have been cursed with this aging body G-d has given me but inside I am still such a young woman! And I am …I don’t see it when there are no mirrors, I feel achy but my heart is still light, I still feel like flirting with gorgeous people and like to giggle like a teenager too. So rather than abiding by “act your age”, I am choosing to act how I feel inside. Again, such a great post!! x

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you so much…yes TIME is sneaky. I love the quote and totally agree on the mirrors. I play like a child and love like a teenager, chase butterflies and follow rainbows, so hopefully, I’ll never grow old. Thank you for commenting ❤


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