i think the worse thing for me is feeling... like i'm not "myself."
i'm very social, like to jump into things with both feet, like to grab people by both hands and drag them into new experiences that i know they will enjoy and enjoy it with them. i'm flamboyant, not shy. i'm even brash at times.
but this me, the me in my mind, changes when i am hit with a wave of self-recognition. whe i look in the mirror and realize that this confidence should not be coupled with someone who looks the way i do. when i put on that fabulous crushed velvet bright red skirt, a corset top in black (the outfit looks so beautiful on the hanger), a pair of fishnet tights and my boots, spend an hour on my hair with only a view of my head, pull the shaving mirror off the wall and do my makeup just so (but i can only see my face), walk out of the house feeling like a million bucks, and then catch a glimpse of myself in a store window while i'm out from the corner of my eye and have to do a double take when i realize that the heifer crammed into that red skirt that she should have known better than to wear in public is... ME.
i hate cooking a fabulous three course japanese meal for my friends to enjoy, for us to enjoy, to experience together, and being unable to really eat in front of them because every bite i take makes me more aware of how i look, what they must be thinking... so i pick at my food demurely and hog back all the leftovers when everyone has left...
i hate buying something at the thrift store thinking that it will be too big, getting it home, and not being able to even get it on, let alone buttoned.
its like my internal image of myself, and the me that i see in the mirror that is edging on 200lbs, are completely different people. when i make love to my husband, in the dark, i feel like a sex kitten, beautiful, desirable. the next day, when the mushy romantic feelings are still glazing the world pink, and i wake up and stretch languidly, and accidentally catch a glance of myself in the mirror, its like the image shatters and i'm disgusted that i was ever undressed in front of him at all.
i know i look like a mommy now. and i'm okay with never being a lingerie model. but if i could get my real body to be at least not so jarringly different from the internal me that feels she has the right to self-confidence, i think i could be a lot less manic-depressive.