Neutral

My skin tone is neutral. But if you asked the girls at the Clinique and MAC counters in the early 00’s (which I did) they would have told you that my skin was cool toned (and they did). Why would they say my skin was cool if it was neutral? Well I’ve always had redness in my face and I’ve been within a shade or two of ‘porcelain’ my whole life, not counting my many freckles. Apparently, my genetics lean heavily on my Welsh ancestors, though it’s not their fault either. I don’t blame the girls at the makeup counters (mostly) for thinking I had cool skin, though I always looked quite a bit pinker with the foundation they chose (yikes). Back then there was really only cool or warm tones in most makeup brands. They have since amended that, thank God (I do), as makeup has evolved.

The funny thing about all this, is that I have never been a neutral person. I came out the womb with strong opinions and bold choices. If you asked my parents (you can if you want to), they would tell you my favorite word as a child was “actually”. I would correct my parents when they would assume something about me or what happened at school. I would inform them that “actually” I didn’t have hazel eyes, they are just a greyish blueish green. I would tell my best friend, “actually” I didn’t shave off my eyebrows on purpose, I was trying to make them thinner because by nineties standards they were bushy (that’s another story for another day). I knew what I was about from Day 1 and I never shut up about all of it.    

That’s why my mental illness has always been the yin to my yang. I have big plans and big ideas but my depression stifles my motivation to where all I can do is lie in bed and watch Law and Order: SVU (which is an incredible show and I stand by it). I have taken medication for my clinical depression on and off since I was 7 years old, when my brother moved away and triggered all of this (not Andrew’s fault either). I have recently been put back on Prozac after six months without it (the first three were great, so only kind of my fault). Being off medication for so long I forgot who I was. I developed sometimes crippling anxiety. I still had my old opinions but I became bitter and uninterested. I started to become more neutral. Some people are neutral and its great for them. Somehow, they manage to still have passion in their objectivity. I couldn’t. Not like that. It was more apathy than objectivity. Since starting Prozac again, I have started to feel more and more like myself again. Then just as I’m almost halfway back to normal, it became worse than ever before.

 See, I also have Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder, PMDD as its known colloquially. PMDD essentially means your regular monthly hormone fluctuations are 20 foot waves instead of 20 inch ones. So there I was, a week before my period staring at a 20 foot wave about to drown me (and it did). I am on the other side of that wave now, two weeks later, trying to perform CPR on myself. It’s a very strange feeling trying to resuscitate yourself. You feel physically and emotionally exhausted, as if the battle you fought was in the real world with a very real enemy, not your own brain trying to destroy you. And it’s hard to call it a battle when all you did was sleep and lie in bed watching random movies because even your tv shows sounded exhausting (there’s no logic in that theory, don’t look for it, depression and anxiety won’t give it to you). But it was. It was a daily battle to keep yourself alive and some days you barely win.

So here I am, trying to put the pieces of myself back together. Thing is, it’s been so long, I have to go hunting for pieces that fell out and rolled under the couch. Try to dust them off and see if they still fit. Finding my voice again has been a big one. Because, “actually” my skin is neutral. But I never have been.