Earlier this week, I was attempting to cobble together a nice dressy outfit for an event later this month. I’d had something in mind as perfect, put it on… and not so much. Not a big deal, except that I hate clothing shopping to a significant degree, and always have done. Not for any reason other than the fact that I’m not terribly concerned with what goes on as long as it covers everything and keeps me temperature appropriate.

However, when one aims to dress up, that means actually giving a tiny bit of care into what is being put on. I’ll probably suck it up and try shopping around to see if I can find something I like that will be suitable, but in the meantime? That charming bipolar brain of mine has found in that a new avenue to try and force depression on me — body disliking.

Mind, I’m pretty cool with my body. The tits and ass continue to be glorious in the post-kiddo world, and there’s still a defined waist. However, I have the ‘fortune’ of still looking very pregnant in spite of my efforts. I wouldn’t care if I looked fat, but looking pregnant is a magnet for space-invading morons who think that they have a right to touch you. When I was actually pregnant, I didn’t have my citizenship yet so the chances of me reeling back and punching someone were cut down significantly so I didn’t risk deportation. Now, however… *sighs* I don’t think I’ll actually punch anyone or break any limbs, but even the thought of someone trying to touch me is stressful and violating. I had to yell at friends for touching at me in the past because it’s almost more stressful for me than being touched. Hell, part of me wishes I were rich, selfish, and vain enough to just opt for a tummy tuck to avoid that hell (seeing how weight loss didn’t magically flatten my stomach, because oh… it’s not a place I naturally put on or lose weight from)… then it would just be back to the inevitable morons trying to casually grope me. Geez world, do I have a ‘violate me’ sign on my back or something? ¬¬

Anyways, I hope that my brain gets over this tactic, ’cause it’s really annoying and counter to my actual generally-held beliefs. Plus, it gives room for lots of ‘helpful’ advice about diet, exercise, and undergarments which is 500% -not- of use, and therefore, leaves a lot more room for stress and anxiety and probable cessation of relationships with people who think years of dieting means they know anything about healthy bodies (hint: if the diet didn’t work the first time, what makes you think it’ll work the 10th? Just sayin’). I don’t actually need to lose weight, nor am I unhealthy (well… *laughs*). It’s just continuing to come to terms with the current me, and fighting down the negative little voices of Bipolar that pipe up and try to make me hide from the world.

I am going to lock comments, because 500% I don’t want to hear what tortures people are up to in the name of ‘health’, or diatribes about how thin = happy. 😉