Fatal Attraction: When You Spend Too Much Time with Yourself

Mirror, mirror, on the wall - a chime from fairy-tale lore, is a thought that is less realistic than it once was. Sure, there are mirrors on the wall, but more times than not, they function less to reflect an image, and more so act as decor. Tall and overbearing standing mirrors lean against walls as showpieces. In this case, the mirror’s longitudinal plane is not perpendicular to the ground such that when one does choose to stand in front of it, his/her reflection is skewed. Its like the phone camera roll’s editing adjust tool that enables you to make the photo’s top or bottom half more prominent and creating a focal lens on specificity that forces the rest of the image into a peripheral sight-line.

Mirrors also tend to house superstitions; Sometimes, a glass, which has reflective properties, when broken, foreshadows death. Similarly, urban legend reports that should one say “Bloody Mary,” three times as the clock strikes 12 AM, one will see her image appear in the mirror. For some respite from all of this bad joojoo, let us retreat back to the very jingle that asks who the fairest one of them all is. Though childlike, this jingle suggests the personality flaw of an untamed ego. Inherently, we are comparing appearances by using the superlative, fairest. The famed quotation, defining comparison as the “thief of joy,” further underlines the undesirable qualities of a mirror.

During this time of social distancing, or as some people suggest that it is more accurately, physical distancing by a minimum of 6 feet, the time we spend with ourselves is at an all-time high. That may sound off kilter because after all, we’re always with our own self. Though tactile interaction may have decreased considerably, we still co-mingle with others using written and spoken words, and images that are both static and moving – video conferencing, real-time chatting, and Face Time. Furthermore, walking outdoors provides sensory stimulation: birds chirp, the breeze ruffles prematurely bloomed flowers, car motors run like army vehicles on a mission to go to and from essential places like grocery, and pharmacy, and there are signs of life with sidewalk messages scrawled in chalk.

Having spent more time with ourselves, we can be conceivably become all too aware of our outward appearance, of the contours of our face, pores, and stray baby hairs, or lack thereof. I find myself looking into the mirror more than ever before. With nowhere to go, and the clothing iron collecting dust as I change into my last pair of clean oversized pajama shirts and pants, I stop and stare at myself in the bathroom mirror as if taking up a seat in the formal living room from my previous situation in the neighboring family room, requires a different dress code.

I tweeze my eyebrows just to shape them so that when I do eventually have them threaded, I will have to endure a shorter period of suffering. I’ll still have to pay the same amount for the job, but at least the pain will be lessened to a degree. In this way, maintenance does well to exemplify how money does not buy happiness, and beauty, or rather vanity, is not necessarily pain, but can be correlated to pain.

Let’s take the example of torture by means of solitary confinement. Spending so much time with one’s self is an ample environment for sensory acuteness to thrive. That is to say, one becomes acutely aware of his/her pulse and one’s own internal bodily fluids circulating. Having become so acutely aware of internal bodily movements, otherwise hidden from sight and sound, dampens mental acumen and agility. Too much time alone isolates one from external compulsions that causes one to adapt, to experience variety, and be constantly stimulated. Social interaction naturally progresses our development and increased knowledge acquisition, formal institutionalize education aside. When left to one’s own, completely cut off from everything aside from the internal voice and surrounding four walls, one becomes self critical, or repulsed by his/her body. I’m not suggesting dysmorphia – a repulsion that is based squarely on perception of the physical appearance because even seeing one’s own reflection can provide an interactive experience – it enables a distancing from one’s internal voice.

And in discussing solitary confinement, I suggest that the body is robust. As with determining a ‘set-point’ weight, a weight that your body classifies as a happy place for optimal functioning and hormonal balance, your hunger, cravings, level of fullness, and desire or lack thereof to move in certain ways, all figures into how much your body should weigh. A major point of set-point weight, individually-based and undefined, is the ability to live without consciously avoiding inevitable situations, or any social interactions that may provide happiness and mental clarity. If one is purposely avoiding an event because of a preoccupation with unknown numbers – the food available, the time conflicting with an exercise regimen – then one is intentionally attempting to alter one’s body into a shape and form that is predicated on formulated desire of what can be rather than what is. Take care to note that I say, “what is,” rather than “what should be.” The body takes up space. Our existence is, not what should be, because, as said before, it already is. It is here. You are here. I am here. We are here.

If there is no formulaic way to ensure that we are at a weight ideal for our mental and physical functioning, throwing in a shelter-in-place mandate does nothing but exacerbate the absence of a formula, the lack of planning, and the plethora of unknowns. In fact, the only assessment we can use is the reflection of one’s self through another’s reel. We compare. There is a meme passing around that takes two consecutive still shots from The Devil Wears Prada. The first, when read from top to bottom, is Emily Blunt alongside Gisele who plays a cameo in the film. The caption reads straight from the script: “Are you wearing the Shh-“ Instead of Andy Sachs, played by Ann Hathaway, committing to her line, “the Chanel Boots?,” she instead replies, ”The Tie-Dye Sweatsuit from Instagram? Yeah, I am.” We see what others have, and we have not what they do. Gratitude lists then run amok, as if to ground one’s self.

There is no question of not possessing humility or character. Instead, spending time alone should not be avoided or even distracted from. Feelings exist to be, as is self-explanatory, felt, because they are fleeting. They, like this entire pandemic culture, are temporary. Feelings cannot perform actions. They don’t have opposable thumbs, but even if they did, they don’t have cognitive ability, and we do. This is empowering. As with all forms of power, it is how one wields it that determines the ensuing scenario. Sitting with feelings, or rather, standing on your head with these feelings if you’re “Working Out From Home,” enables you to not have to ruminate about them later on. There existence no longer has to be questioned. The feelings will no longer sap you of energy.

I had to sit back from writing this for days, weeks, before coming back to it. This is a different mode for me. It tackled my penchant for writing a piece all at once. It tackled my compulsive obsession for crumpling up, trashing, deleting pieces I had begun working on in the past so that I could start fresh. This writing process had become the equivalent to an unsustainable diet: don’t eat as you had opined was rightful one day and vow to start off on a clean slate the next day, only to not fight your body’s desires which may contradict your opinions for what you should and should not be doing.

In the past few days, I cannot say that I have cracked the code or assimilated to a new normalcy – an oxymoronic concept. Instead, I will say that I have made some changes in an attempt to pull me out from the hole of self-deprecation. To each, his/her own, but for me, it begun with changes I wanted to make with regard to my recovery from anorexia. Others influenced me; seeing their seemingly illustrious epiphany about how they can move their body while smiling all the while. I watched on as they panned their phone over foods once considered off limits. So I opted to let go of the miserable anticipation of moving in a way that hurt my body. I opted to try something new as well. I tried to pitch a story in a way I presumed is considered correct. I anticipated my telehealth therapy appointment. Today is the fourth day of novelty.

I have noticed that I look in the mirror less, wash my hair less frequently, and spend less time critically assessing myself. I no longer feel the need to take a shower twice in a day. I also noticed that I took a leave of absence from filming myself for social media videos. In so doing, I have had more time and energy and perhaps this freed up space has helped to free me from the shackles of a routine that exposed how much left of a journey I have to truly heal from a disordered past. Everything can be considered disordered and I am wary of that idea. That said, despite everyone harping on a “new normal,” I must underscore the fact that there is no concept of normal – not really.