It turns out that me attempting to buy clothes on a day when there is a pending emotional sob-fest is just not good.
I woke up feeling okay but by the end of the day...just ugh. It was one of those days where I'd try on stuff and it all just looked like shit and it may have been because the clothes were ugly and also just not made with curvy chicks in mind that like to have full mobility of their arms (I think it's also self-defense classes "What if someone attacks me and my shoulders are restricted? What if I have to punch them? Will I be able to move my arms at all or will this shirt just rip?"). Fashion...some of it is just so not suited to me and leaves me really frustrated.
I think I buy maybe one pair to every twenty pairs of pants I try on.

And bras...holy crap. Do you know how hard it is to find a 34D and then one that fits good. You get the label that's like "Yes, I am the right size and I will do amazing things to your tats." I try it on. "The only 'amazing' thing this crap is doing is giving me quadraboobies." (Quadraboobies: when the cup of the bra cuts your boob at a diagonal giving you the look of having four boobs in your shirt. I believe it is also known as 'muffin tops'.) There's also the effect of your chest being smooshed and having cleavage but that cleavage being closer to your bellybutton than your chin. There's the straight up smoosh. There's the "I may as well not be wearing one and not in a good way." The "Ooh! That looks cute!...Fuck, why are these all A-cups?!"
Oh yes, so much fun. No wonder why I don't do it much. I only decided I needed to go shopping when it became apparent that 'bra' was no longer an accurate description: it was more like...undershirt accessories, like a necklace it has no real purpose and is only meant to look pretty.
Thankfully today was successful thanks to Wal-Mart and mom's help.

Anyhoo, yeah...the clothes trying! Yes, yesterday it did not go well and by the end of the day I was pretty much in hate with my body feeling fat and blocky and somewhere toward wanting to be a transgendered person so that finding clothes could be easier.
Guys have this basic format that jeans, a t-shirt, a belt, sneakers, boxers, socks and jeans that are clean and decently fitting are pretty much all you need for most everyday functions. There may be some small variation but for the most part it works. Shopping trips are fast and easy. It functions, the shirt is funny, it's all good.

~~~~~

Once I get on one negative thought though I tend to Rick roll in a spiral, especially after I've been tired and emotionally frustrated already. It may have been some hormones but I think it was just kind of a culmination.
I thought I was "done" but you never know with emotions. As much as I try to put on the strong "I feel nothing, I'm over it" attitude it weighs. I try very hard to be positive and remember good things about people. In some ways I feel like other people don't understand how I can enjoy the memories of the past in their original beauty even after something has crashed and burned to hell. I feel awkward talking about it sometimes because being happy doesn't mean I've forgiven someone or that I've forgotten how much some of it sucked but I still can enjoy what I felt before. "Why would you think of people that did that to you?" Because they're part of my being. I can outwardly act as though they no longer have presence in my life but for better or worse they will be there.

I was thinking about Josh, my 'dream man' come to life the other day because the gold orange of the setting sun reminded me of him. I thought of the colors, of his golden brown eyes and his dark skin and his smooth voice and talking until the sun disappeared and we were starting to get stuck to the grass. Even though that ended strangely in my mind it was probably the most beautiful experience I've ever had in my life. I still remember one afternoon under the Sycamore on the marble bench where Josh and I sat and just trying to make it fit just me. But no matter how I stood or sat or whomever else sat there with me I sort of knew it would never feel the same without him, never so perfect. "This bench was never meant for one..." It's not a loss, it's just the truth for me. If anything it makes me value that I had the fortune to enjoy that place with him, to feel so complete and perfect. I can keep that thing purely in my mind. I won't compare it to others but there is that knowledge, like the best pair of shoes you ever wore and have disintegrated: that was the best. You put on other shoes, they're good, they're nice. That was the best. Despite the strange ending of him going crazy sorta and leaving the college and ignore my existance I still have that Best Pair of Shoes from him. The other memories are still there if I should need them to remind myself of how such things may end and that 'perfect' can turn to 'what a load of shit' but I am content. I don't think there is any shame in it, have those amazing moments to still love.
So why is it so "taboo" to talk about them?"

The same goes for Ben and for Nick. I'm happy with the times I've had to laugh and to love. But those can only sustain me for so long until I just need to let it out. There was a lot of pain and a lot of anger that still exists. Sometimes it nearly rips through me and I sob and go snot face and teary like I did when mom stepped out of the car for a moment last night.
For that matter I still can't REALLY wrap my head around my experience with Nick of nearing two months ago.
I have those moments of nearly dying laughing because of just his extreme exaggeration or torturing him with Backstreet Boys and finally his face of resignation. But majority of that weekend was shitty and awkward and pretty much ended two friendships for me.
A part of me blames that failure on myself, my own expectations and my anger and muddled feelings.
"I didn't care enough. I cared too much. I didn't put enough in. I put too much in. I'm too much of a bitch. There was plenty of time when I wasn't. Be black. Be white. Hate them. Love them." Isn't this the same old back and forth I go through so often? And then I wonder 'wait, why can't I be grey or some color besides? Why do I have to make it something anyway? It is what it is.'

I've even been really fed up with Vicci lately because although she says that she misses me and that she cares...I wonder where there is the room to. For what reason does she care? I'm used to sort of being there with open arms to carry people, to be that voice that brings them back, to take whatever they have to throw at me. But after a time I break down. I have inner conflict that I ignore in favor of helping out. But when it breaks me I want to drop everything because I'm like a bridge that just goes out without warning. Is it that I am not comfortable enough with these people to be honest? Have I fallen too much in to the script of their own expectations of me to the point that I don't want to say anything back? Isn't that a weakness there that makes me vulnerable? In their need for me are they not the ones that actually have the control?

Creating myself as needless, of being self-reliant entirely, I make it easier to be thrown away. I can handle it. I don't need support. I stand on my own.
But that's a false illusion. I am human. I need other people. I need the other pillars in the Greek temple to hold up the god that is life and in turn each other. But I suppose it is that I need to find my equals, to trust enough, to recognize and be comfortable.

As I've said at some point or another: I don't want to be rescued or to be the rescuer; I want my knight to ride beside me, each of us in our armor and on our horse, strong alone but even stronger together. In a friend and a companion it's what I really want, what the romantic idealist in me most craves.

I'm trying slowly to train up to find these relationships. Recognizing what is and what isn't one is one step that's starting to help a lot.
But again I don't regret the past that I've had. Because I've also realized that each person is kind of my soulmate, fitting in to a piece that was meant to be theirs, meant to be a part of me, what composes my history and my present and my future if I chose to. My friend Jenny said that she thinks that you have multiple soulmates because your needs are changing through life. Some people move in to that new need mold with you and others not. Some stay for a moment and some stay forever. I think that's pretty applicable on a broader scale and I really do like that philosophy.


Summary: I tried clothes, had a shitty time trying clothes, watched a movie, tried more clothes...cried in the car and wondered why excess mucus (aka snot running out of your nose) and tears are a physical part of sadness, came to some conclusions after talking to mom, had a day of good clothes and bras and finally wrote this entry and had an emotional new year.
Anyhoo, so...the moral of this long entry?
Fuck Clothing. Keep Tissues Handy. Talk to mom or something. Be diligent with the bra search. Write it out. Have an emotional new year.

Peace.
~Lo