(no subject)
[Private]
Having spent a significant of time in front of the mirror today, I've come to one rather upsetting conclusion:
I don't find myself attractive anymore. That's actually something of an understatement. I don't recognize myself anymore, and I don't find the woman staring back at me at all attractive.
My breasts have doubled in size. I realize many women pay significant amounts of money to go from what I had to what I now have, but I liked what I had. I also liked being able to go braless without waiting for someone to mutter something about high beams or ask me if I was cold. Come to think of it, I liked being able to go braless.
My grey slacks don't want to button anymore. After several hours staring at my reflection, I can honestly say that I don't look pregnant. Instead, I look like I've been wolfing down Big Macs and donuts. And I've got an ugly red band around my stomach from wearing the damn grey slacks anyway.
I've always had an ass, but I swear it's expanding faster than this kid is growing, and I'm told she's growing pretty damn quickly, all things considered.
I haven't had acne since high school, but I'm breaking out.
I'm seeing veins where I didn't even know I had them, my breasts and stomach have become a tangle of thin blue lines.
I look tired.
I'm not supposed to dye my hair for another few weeks, so my roots are showing through, complete with all the grey I've tried so long to hide.
I look old.
I'm not a vain person. Not that vain, at least. I spent the last six years in front of a camera, I learned how to dress, how to conceal, how to look like I was bursting with energy when all I wanted to do was curl up and sleep for a week. In forty-five years, there have been few constants in my life, few things I could count on. My body was one of those things. I know my body. I know when I've lost a pound and I know when I've gained one. I know how long I can lay in the sun to get a perfect tan without burning. I know how to carry myself, how to slouch without it being noticeable, how to use my height to my advantage. I know where I like to be touched, and how. When everything-- everything-- was falling down around me, my body was the only thing I could count on. The only thing I could control.
The thing is? I don't know any of it, anymore. I spent an hour staring at my reflection, and the only thing I recognized was the scar on my left kneecap from when I feel off my bike as a kid. Everything's falling down around me, and I have nothing to count on. I'm not in control.
I don't remember the last time I hated my reflection as much as I did today. I don't think I ever have.
[/Private]
Having spent a significant of time in front of the mirror today, I've come to one rather upsetting conclusion:
I don't find myself attractive anymore. That's actually something of an understatement. I don't recognize myself anymore, and I don't find the woman staring back at me at all attractive.
My breasts have doubled in size. I realize many women pay significant amounts of money to go from what I had to what I now have, but I liked what I had. I also liked being able to go braless without waiting for someone to mutter something about high beams or ask me if I was cold. Come to think of it, I liked being able to go braless.
My grey slacks don't want to button anymore. After several hours staring at my reflection, I can honestly say that I don't look pregnant. Instead, I look like I've been wolfing down Big Macs and donuts. And I've got an ugly red band around my stomach from wearing the damn grey slacks anyway.
I've always had an ass, but I swear it's expanding faster than this kid is growing, and I'm told she's growing pretty damn quickly, all things considered.
I haven't had acne since high school, but I'm breaking out.
I'm seeing veins where I didn't even know I had them, my breasts and stomach have become a tangle of thin blue lines.
I look tired.
I'm not supposed to dye my hair for another few weeks, so my roots are showing through, complete with all the grey I've tried so long to hide.
I look old.
I'm not a vain person. Not that vain, at least. I spent the last six years in front of a camera, I learned how to dress, how to conceal, how to look like I was bursting with energy when all I wanted to do was curl up and sleep for a week. In forty-five years, there have been few constants in my life, few things I could count on. My body was one of those things. I know my body. I know when I've lost a pound and I know when I've gained one. I know how long I can lay in the sun to get a perfect tan without burning. I know how to carry myself, how to slouch without it being noticeable, how to use my height to my advantage. I know where I like to be touched, and how. When everything-- everything-- was falling down around me, my body was the only thing I could count on. The only thing I could control.
The thing is? I don't know any of it, anymore. I spent an hour staring at my reflection, and the only thing I recognized was the scar on my left kneecap from when I feel off my bike as a kid. Everything's falling down around me, and I have nothing to count on. I'm not in control.
I don't remember the last time I hated my reflection as much as I did today. I don't think I ever have.
[/Private]