Body Baggage and Fucking Empathy until I’m Raw

Unfettered tits. My brother thinks it would be a great name for a new band. I was just commenting on how happy I was to get out of the Iron Maiden (old sense as in torture, not the band) wonder fucking bra I was wearing.

I have never been a well endowed woman. At my heaviest I could barely fill a B cup. At home I never wear a bra. Why? I may be almost 50 but a pencil STILL won’t stay under my boob if I take my hand away (uh, Phyllis Diller, people). So let your tits fly free, baby! New research is coming out stating that bras do NOT help a woman’s posture or prevent sagging breasts. Geez, so fucking glad research is catching up with what any woman could have told them years ago – bras are uncomfortable bastards at best. Sorry; I don’t give a damn how much stuffing or soft edges you put on them, they’re designed to strap you in and squeeze your breasts together for cleavage. You don’t see men wearing them, tho there’s plenty that NEED bras! They’re not fucking brainwashed into believing this or that about their tits….

And the saddest part of all this is that I’m embarrassed to go out in public without a bra. There. I’ve admitted it. I get all weird when men come on to me at ALL. Going braless just feels like an invitation for more unwanted attention. So I strap ’em in like the rest of you and deal with it while out amongst the masses.

My mind’s been contemplating the changes in my body lately. The swimming is showing up with less inches on the measuring tape, more room in my clothes, and more definition in my muscles. Unfortunately, the cellulite on my thighs is ugly with a capital UGH. Doing my best to moisturize, praying for a miracle cure, knowing I’ll have to live with it. Yuck. I will still find many ways to hate my body even after I’ve lost the extra weight I’m carrying. I see my reasons everywhere: the cellulite, the wrinkles, the stretch marks, the sun damage. Body un-beautiful. Yes, when I’ve lost the extra weight I can pimp up and hide all the shit I complain about but that’s no less a lie than wearing a body slimming girdle now and claiming I’m 10 pounds less than I am.

I have no appetite. I eat my breakfast and dinner because I know I should, not because my stomach is growling. I don’t eat lunch. Ever. 2 meals a day is all I can handle. And they’re small. Here’s yesterday, which is very typical:

Morning: 1 1/2 cups oatmeal made with goat’s milk, 3 cups of coffee.

Evening: 1 1/2 bowls of lemon rice soup, 1 small ham sandwich, 2 cups of coffee, 1 low calorie ice cream bar (79 calories).

Other than that, it’s water all day long. On rare occasions I’ll have a vitamin drink or an extra energy drink in the afternoon as a boost.

If only I could have felt this way about food when I was 12!!! Oh, what a different world it might be then! I may never have developed the stretch marks and cellulite that haunt me so today.

Moot point, of course. I am here, I am me, complete with the stretch marks and cellulite and all the bad feelings I still carry from growing up overweight. Sometimes I think of my sister. She carries twice to three times the weight I do. Saying she’s just fat is a real compliment. She’s obese. And if I carry this much body baggage around at the size I am, she must carry much, much more. Either that, or she’s a complete idiot (NOT outside the realm of possibility).

*sigh* I am NOT discussing my emotions here. Have you noticed? cause I sure have! I have a tight spot in my chest and stomach and I’m not even BEGINNING to address that.

…….I’m gonna turn OFF today. I’ve taken too much in recently; I feel too exposed and vulnerable. I need to wrap myself up in protective care for 24-48 hours and heal a little. I can’t stop feeling, can’t stop getting involved and wound up. Time for a mental holiday. I will not watch news until Monday, no matter what. I will be slothful and lazy and indulgent and petulant. I will eat fatty foods if I want. I will soak in a tub if I need. I will make music. I will watch movies and cartoons. I will stay in my jammie-jams as long as I want to. I will play.

I almost added I will not blog to that list. Had to erase it. I feel that would be running and I don’t want to run. I just need to get some distance and perspective on the world. My brother keeps telling me to not get so involved but HOW? How can I turn off my emotions like that? I can’t, and these empathy feelings flow from me so fast and thick that I feel like I’m fucking DYING over here just from the pain of the world. Don’t ask me how I can feel this and still attack the world as morons; even I can’t justify that flip right now tho I know it’s in me. It just IS and I wish people would stop asking me how or why. I can no more explain it than I can chaotic mathematic theory.

Fucking shitty ambivalence. Fucking HATE this; would rather hate the world than feel this pain. Here I am crying again and I don’t know if it’s for me or for you or for him or for her or for them or for fucking all of us.

Fuck i feel so fucking RAW right now I don’t know how i can pull it together for the day.

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2 thoughts on “Body Baggage and Fucking Empathy until I’m Raw

  1. Unfettered tits sounds like an awesome band name. But when you become famous, we’ll know who wrote all these blogs 😉

    Its good to be feeling, even if its so intense… Its better than feeling nothing at all. That’s when you know you’re in trouble…
    Thinking of you *hugs*

    Liked by 1 person

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