If you have been reading up to now, you know my boobs are weird.
If you have eyes you can see clearly in the above photo, they look a little weird.
I have a congenital deformity called Poland syndrome. Just Google it.
I’m trying so hard to be okay with it, but I am not there yet.
I have/had body dysmorphia.
I have bouts where I think/believe/see myself as deformed. Because I am.
I am also anorexic, in the same way even a recovered alcoholic will always be an alcoholic.
I’m currently able to eat, but things could change, as they tend to do and imbibing a blueberry will feel like a Herculean task.
I am also medium to heavily tattooed.
Neither of those things have to do with my body dysmorphia nor my deformity. My anorexia is stress related. I would rather look in the mirror and see curvy/toned but when I am sad, I can’t bring myself to chew or swallow. I don’t even get hungry.
My tattoos are pretty, no great meaning behind them except the 3 that are words, and mean what they say. I just like them.
I am currently recovering from a 5.5 hour tattoo session wherein 80% of a full back piece was outlined. I am endorphin crashing like mad. It’s okay. Holding the vision, trusting the process.
What is not okay is I cannot at this moment, wear a bra. I am self-conscious about my boobs to the point where it is crippling sometimes. Like right now, wherein my body is in a weakened state, my mind is preoccupied with lack of sleep and pain management and I can’t get happy nor comfortable. Comfortable clothes has become a contradiction in terms and my bedroom floor looks like a hurricane hit my closet.
This too shall pass. I’ll be Pollyanna again by tomorrow, but right now I hurt, and I am naked because I can’t hide my boobs in a bra, so I am unable to even at all.
My heart hurts a bit too.
I changed my profile pic to match my cover photo, I do this every day, usually without consequence. Today however I looked at the date and comments. Flashbacks galore, on a day where I can barely exist in my current hurt, much less deal with old ones.
I have a collection of dresses and shirts that I feel comfortable in without a bra. They are my favorites.
Once upon a May 18th, I had a market day with friends. I wore one of said dresses, my favorite one in fact. It had always made me feel like I was wearing butterfly wings, silken flowing. I wandered about running my own errands to spare their 4 year old my meandering. And lo, what to my slightly teary eyes should appear? Mind Fuck. I finally remembered what I named the Twinkie Ghostling Young Un Three Point ohmygodyouareadorable, with that glorious mouth of his, noms. He looked at me like I was made of magic, bit his delicious bottom lip, asked if he could draw me, gathered all my information and we parted ways. Me flattered and happy.
3 blocks away, I meet up with my other family, go for dinner…Wee Miss Memphis has nothing to do so I wander out in search of crayons. Some potato shaped girl across the street remarks to her friends “Her boobs look weird in that dress don’t they?” in reference to me and LOUD AS FUCK. Immediate shame, I slunk back to the restaurant, trouty-pouty mouthed boy forgotten, the love, warmth and acceptance of my non-biological family, wasn’t enough to erase what she said. I wrapped my sweater around me and stayed covered for the rest of the day. Until Wee Miss Memphis got chilly and I wrapped her up in it. Children trump everything, ever and always.
I can accept that there will be days when I simply feel yucky, it’s normal, it’s human, it’s inevitable…
What I cannot abide is when that feeling is pushed on me by outside forces.
I am ultimately in charge of this.
This is commonly know as giving no fucks.
I’m good with that.
The next day I spoke to the trouty-mouthed-mind-fuck and we had a thing for a few weeks. He was lovely until he lied with his purdy mouth, to my face, about pretty much everything. Goes to show can’t trust even the prettiest words from the prettiest boys, but whatev’s. I had a little meltdown and got over it.
That dress didn’t make it through the next purge, I toss a lot of things that hold less than spectacular memories. I sold it. But not because of the boy who lied. Because of the girl who told the truth. I know that their opinions of me are none of my business but I couldn’t shake it off. I still can’t, I am writing 1000 words about how I let 2 strangers both make and break my day. I don’t know how to stop this but I have to try.
I wrote this this morning.
Ode to Hot Neighbor
Oh hot neighbor,
Why you gotta to be so hot.
How is it that every time I see you
I am a mess
Sleep in my eyes
Hair wild, but not in a good way
Tiny dog straining at the leash
She wants to say hi
I know how she feels
But I smile and drop my head
I’m always carrying trash
Late for something
You look at me as if I am in my Sunday best
Carrying the grail or a cool drink of water
Salome down to her last veil.
Thank you hot neighbor,
For being so hot and so sweet.
Perhaps one day I’ll say hello, and instead of asking for a cup of sugar, I’ll borrow his eyes and see what he sees when he looks at me, hopefully I will be in one of those dresses that I love so much, feeling and maybe even looking like a butterfly.