Once upon a time, there was a woman, who was prescribed a pill. This pill promised to make her happy, and “numb her” from her troubles, making life tolerable. For a year she took it, numb and unphased to the world around her. Emotionally, she was fine, but physically the little pill forever altered the once cherished landscape of her body, and ravaged it into a mold she never wished for.
The woman eventually was released from the safety of the pill, and started to experience life again on her own. Raw emotions came back, and it took some adjustment. But she felt better and alive, all but the now changed atlas of her body, which she felt she had little control over.
Loose fabric, is a blessing. It hides, and conceals, and soon her wardrobe became a series of baggy shirts and jeans. Her old life, of fashionable clothing, no longer suited for her, hung in the closet to collect dust.
I’ve spent all day, finally doing the “dreaded deed”… I finally sorted through an entire selection of clothes, which came with me into my new apartment. I should have weeded through them before the move, but alas as life has it, I was delayed. I’m happy to share, after trying every single item on (before placing it onto the hanger) that about 60% of my pre-medicated day clothes… fit. some more snug than others, but a fit, something some time ago I never imagined would happen.
And in other good news, I finally had been talking to a man. We hadn’t met yet, but he had been asking me out these last few days, I declining as one should as not to appear too desperate or too available. Tonight he offered dinner, at a Thai restaurant, and I accepted. We agreed to meet in an hour and a half. 5 minutes later, as I am happily making myself a cup of coffee, excited that I have an arranged closet full of clothes – mentally mapping out what blouse to wear and what heels to match with a set of jeans, when this asshole sends me this:
“Send me a full body pic please.”
Mr. Man and I have been chatting for almost 2 weeks now, and he has seen pictures of me. It’s now the eleventh hour, a dinner date planned, and clearly I am being “fat checked”.
My impression of him immediately sours. This isn’t who or what I had hoped I would be going out with. I did not beat myself up over it though, nor become angry. I’ve personally struggled with accepting myself since my depression for years now.
And so I called him out for it. And told him that any man who is more interested in full body pics, is more interested in beauty verses personality.
“But if you must know, here’s what you won’t be getting tonight” and I attached a recent full body photo of myself, posing in a shirt I haven’t been able to fit into in quite some time.
He replies: “very pretty”
“I know”. I retort back.
At least I found out he felt this way before I took off my clothes.
Next time, I should just swipe left.