GUESS WHAT I KNOW THAT I’M FAT BUT THERE’S NOTHING LIKE HAVING YOUR MOTHER BASICALLY TELL YOU THAT IN HER OPINION YOU SHOULD WEAR A TENT ON YOUR WEDDING DAY IN ORDER TO HIDE YOUR BODY.

Also? Fuck.
FUCK!
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I do think about it. I just can’t write about it, because I can’t find the words.

The other day, my Matron of Honour and I went off to the Wedding Dress Stores to try on Wedding Dresses.
Well, for me to try on wedding dresses, and for her to watch me and tell me what looked hideous and what didn’t. I did all this for her two years ago so we knew what to expect. I wore underpants that weren’t full of holes, and a bra that fully covered everything (yeah because I have so many of those nipple cut-out bras just lying around). I drew the line at shaving my legs, though.

So, we went to two stores. Store number one had like, four plus-sized dresses. One of them was nice enough, but not really the style I’m looking for. Oh, by the way, yes I still fully intend to make my own dress. The reason for going and trying them on, however, was to see if the style that I like looks good on me, and what other styles might be more flattering in case the dress I intend to make turns out to look like crap. The other three were… uhm… Have you ever seen a giant marshmallow with lots of tulle sticking out of it, topped with humongous beaded butterflies and birds? You haven’t? Well, there’s probably a reason for that– IT SHOULDN’T EXIST. We laughed, oh how we laughed.

The second store… I tried on two dresses. And I loved both of them. And they were sort of kind of what I had planned for the dress I’m making, but also different enough that I can see where it might be a bit of a problem. I wish I knew someone who knew how to make dress patterns. Because although these two were the most perfect gowns I’ve ever seen, there is no way I am paying $1500 for a dress that I’m going to wear one day. Or $700 to rent it.

Anyway. We took pictures. I looked at the pictures (you too can look at the pictures if you so desire; comment and make sure to put your proper email address in the email field) and was enraptured again by the beautiful dresses. Then I looked closer and saw my stupid body underneath the dresses and was all “Ew! Back fat! Big fat arms! Yuck!”. Which is easily explainable, seeing as I basically sit on the couch all day eating ice cream. Actually I believe we’re out of ice cream now but you get the point.

I know that my medications are slowing down my ability to keep weight off but heck, I should still at least try, right? In that vein, yesterday I went out and bought a pedometer. And a magazine about exercising. Which is good, because if you say to me “You should exercise” I get all freaked out because there’s so much exercise OUT THERE. but if you give me specifics (i.e. “left foot right foot left foot right foot. Repeat 9817 times” or at least “Monday, walk for one hour. Tuesday, jump up and down singing ‘We Are The World’ for 1 1/2 hrs” etc.) I do much better.

We shall see, we shall see.

In case any of you are wondering what would be entertaining for me if ever we’re together…

Rob and I went and did our grocery shopping at around midnight. Then we went to McDonald’s (yes yes I know but it’s right there and I reallyreally wanted a Coke with ice in it, nevermind the fact that we’d just bought a 2L bottle of Coke. It’s Not The Same!). And then, well. My night was completed by a trip through the carwash. Rapture.

You’re going to laugh, but honestly? I love it. I don’t know why. I always have. I remember as a child sitting in the backseat of our car, singing “Octopus’ Garden” with my brother and father, as the big tentacle-ish soapy-wipey things went over the windshield.
It’s like being in a submarine or something, hearing nothing but the swoosh of the water against the windows, watching the soap bubbles block out the rest of the world.

Now, I’ve never had a professional massage (it’s one of my goals, sure, but so is saving money and uh… yeah. Hasn’t happened yet) but I can’t imagine anything being more relaxing to me.

SO! If ever you’re in a car with me and trying to find something entertaining to do, spend five bucks on the carwash and I’ll be happy.

I sit, and I stare at my image reflected in the mirror. No makeup, no wig, no eyeglasses to break up the expanse of skin. No eyebrows. Blue eyes, lashes returning but ever so slowly, not fully grown in yet. Pale lips. I look like a store mannequin, before she’s been painted and dressed. I barely recognize myself when I’m like this.

I look alien.

Yes, I know. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Looks don’t matter, it’s what’s inside that counts. Other people are much worse off than I am. I know all these things, and I repeat them to myself, but deep inside, that little niggle of self-pity sometimes manages to break its way through. The little voice that says Why me? I used to have such beautiful hair, long, thick and curly… what cruel Fate decided that I would lose it all, a sudden fall of hair in the shower one October morning? And other people… they may feel sorry, they may pity, but they will never fully understand. They might say they do, but they can’t, not until they begin to dread going outside– you never know what’s going to land in your eyes now that you haven’t got eyebrows or lashes to protect you. I feel so jealous when friends complain about bad hair days, or how difficult their hair is to style– and I feel guilty about the jealousy, because why should they censor themselves around me?

And so, I take out my paintbrush and draw on some eyebrows, cursing myself when they’re crooked, feeling unduly pleased when they look even and halfway natural. I fill in the bald spots on my lashline with eyeliner, smudging it just so, until the missing lashes are barely noticeable. I put on my wig, fluffing and fiddling with it until it looks like it might be my own hair, although my own hair never, ever looked like this.

I go out, feeling so self-conscious, wondering if people can tell. I’m so hot. It’s like wearing a wool hat in the summertime. Am I sweating? Did I accidentally rub off part of my eyebrow? Damn, where’s a mirror?. I don’t want people to know– oddly, not because I would feel uncomfortable with them knowing, but more because I have been in so many situations where others felt uncomfortable around me. I don’t want to have to explain again. I feel like I’ve been explaining and explaining forever, and it never ends**. I don’t want to be in the situation where the onus of putting people at ease is on me. Selfish? Yes, quite.

I haven’t been swimming in three years. I don’t dare join a gym for fear of frightening others. No, I’m not overreacting– back when I was only missing a small patch of my hair, a girl in my dorm who saw me at the pool avoided me for two weeks, thinking that I had something catching. When she finally copped to being afraid of me (of me!) and I explained that it was nothing to worry about, she began weeping, saying that it still “freaked her out too much” and that I must “never ever show [her] that again.” I feel fine being like this around my family– but I don’t feel like I can “subject myself” to my friends.

I worry. Often. I no longer have the horrible feelings of no man will ever be able to love me– I know looks aren’t everything but the discovery that if he wants to, he can run his hands through my hair when I’m not even in the room… it’s going to take some kind of saint to want to be with me. I’ve found my saint, and he’s wonderful. No, now I worry about the future: I don’t want to embarass any children we might have because I’m bald and oh my God, what happens if our child inherits this? Other kids can be so cruel and I know that no matter how much we tell her that she’s fine, she’s perfect, and no matter how much we try to educate the other kids, there will still be that one, that one little mean bugger who will decimate our child’s self confidence with one glance, one sneer, one pointing finger, one cruel remark. And I cry for our as yet unconceived child, knowing the pain that she’ll feel, and hoping against hope that she never has to.

I’m not writing this to elicit a response, really. I’m not writing this to have others pity me because 97% of the time, I don’t pity myself. I just wanted my feelings out. I’ve been brooding on this for a few days and it needed to go. It’s gone now.

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We’ve been here since Thursday. I love my parents. They are making me crazy. My mom likes to watch the Lonestar channel 24/7. I’ve had enough of Little Joe, thanks. I have a sunburn (which has never happened to me ever in my life). It’s not pleasant. We’re going out to look at possible reception venues. My mother has given Rob explicit instructions of how and why to wear his seatbelt. I think he’s going a little crazy, too.
Etc. etc.
Also there’s no cake here.