I am...

a truly fucked up person.

I understand this. I embrace it...go with it, as it were.

But sometimes, I get blind sided.

We were in Torrid on Monday (truly do love that store...wish list nothin', just wrap up everything from the front door to the dressing room and send it on.;) and I tried on a bunch of stuff (which never would have happened if I'd *known* I was PMSing...but my cycles are insane at the moment).

I looked in the mirror and *really* didn't like what I saw. Not just size-wise, 'cause I'm doing something (as little as it may be, the something is more than the nothing I *was* doing) to make myself feel better in that regard. But I didn't look like...the image I'd projected for myself. This Amazon (albeit with two breasts) type warrior woman, ready to take on the world, with the kid on one hip and the world on the other.

But the chick in the mirror looked...wrung out, tired and, dare I say it, frumpy. Or at least boring. (The fact that the bedroom was apparently hit by a cyclone and finding an actual outfit rather than just clothes contributes heavily to this.) And not cute, pretty or...anything. I looked like a dollar that had been through the wash several times. But less green.

And since the rest of my brain tends to believe the fucked up part, especially when PMS is having a field day, that one glance in the mirror colored my entire worldview and I'm *still* trying to get back to the place I was before. I mean, I was ok with myself, and when I made a true effort, I loved who I saw in the mirror. But, poor Sisyphus...I've rolled to the bottom of the hill again and he's got to push me up again.

The sick thing is, in a way, this is comforting...I hate it here, but I know the terrain...when I *am* back in the place I was, self-acceptance wise, I'll have accomplished *something*, even if it *is* something I've done several times before.

I think I think too much. But, if I *don't* analyze the world and my place in it, how the hell am I supposed to know what truly happened? First images and impressions are far too fallible.

I'm almost always worried that I'm going to say the wrong thing at *just* The Wrong Time. I have managed to stop putting buffers around my arguments and have started just stating what's on my mind and getting out of there. It'll probably piss some people off from time to time, but I was completely disgusted with myself.

On the one hand is the "If they're truly my friends, I'll be able to say what's on my mind and no one will hate me for it.' (within certain limits, naturally) argument. Then, on the other hand is the "Do you *really* want to find out?" argument. Things would probably be easier if I could just keep my mouth shut...but I really don't see *that* happening anytime soon. If anything, I've become mouthier lately. I think that's good.

I stopped trying to save the world a while ago...maybe I should start again, though. I mean, everyone needs a hobby, right?

I am...

a truly fucked up person.

I understand this. I embrace it...go with it, as it were.

But sometimes, I get blind sided.

We were in Torrid on Monday (truly do love that store...wish list nothin', just wrap up everything from the front door to the dressing room and send it on.;) and I tried on a bunch of stuff (which never would have happened if I'd *known* I was PMSing...but my cycles are insane at the moment).

I looked in the mirror and *really* didn't like what I saw. Not just size-wise, 'cause I'm doing something (as little as it may be, the something is more than the nothing I *was* doing) to make myself feel better in that regard. But I didn't look like...the image I'd projected for myself. This Amazon (albeit with two breasts) type warrior woman, ready to take on the world, with the kid on one hip and the world on the other.

But the chick in the mirror looked...wrung out, tired and, dare I say it, frumpy. Or at least boring. (The fact that the bedroom was apparently hit by a cyclone and finding an actual outfit rather than just clothes contributes heavily to this.) And not cute, pretty or...anything. I looked like a dollar that had been through the wash several times. But less green.

And since the rest of my brain tends to believe the fucked up part, especially when PMS is having a field day, that one glance in the mirror colored my entire worldview and I'm *still* trying to get back to the place I was before. I mean, I was ok with myself, and when I made a true effort, I loved who I saw in the mirror. But, poor Sisyphus...I've rolled to the bottom of the hill again and he's got to push me up again.

The sick thing is, in a way, this is comforting...I hate it here, but I know the terrain...when I *am* back in the place I was, self-acceptance wise, I'll have accomplished *something*, even if it *is* something I've done several times before.

I think I think too much. But, if I *don't* analyze the world and my place in it, how the hell am I supposed to know what truly happened? First images and impressions are far too fallible.

I'm almost always worried that I'm going to say the wrong thing at *just* The Wrong Time. I have managed to stop putting buffers around my arguments and have started just stating what's on my mind and getting out of there. It'll probably piss some people off from time to time, but I was completely disgusted with myself.

On the one hand is the "If they're truly my friends, I'll be able to say what's on my mind and no one will hate me for it.' (within certain limits, naturally) argument. Then, on the other hand is the "Do you *really* want to find out?" argument. Things would probably be easier if I could just keep my mouth shut...but I really don't see *that* happening anytime soon. If anything, I've become mouthier lately. I think that's good.

I stopped trying to save the world a while ago...maybe I should start again, though. I mean, everyone needs a hobby, right?