The very worst of me

Hello there,

It feels weird blogging about this now, knowing that one of my friends does read my blog regularly. I try not to let that influence me, because the purpose of this blog has always been to help me. Vent, whine, reflect or make up my mind.
Today I have to release some pain. And while it helps me cope to write it all down, the mere act of putting it into words also makes it more real, and that hurts.

I had been looking forward to this weekend for several days, and all in all we had a blast. We went to a BDSM and pet play munch on Friday, then to a fetish store and a metal/rock/alternative party on Saturday, and I had my creative writing group over on Sunday.

At the fetish store, we urged a friend of mine to try on a red latex dress with a cleavage that can hardly be called a cleavage anymore. The neckline goes down to below her belly button. And she can totally pull it off! She looks amazing in it, but she needed some nudging and encouragement to try it on.
The thing is: she acted all coyly. But in my opinion, she was just shy and it was just that, an act. Like "I really want this but I'm too shy to admit it"-kind of thing. Which is fine - we all do it. And that's what friends are for. If she really hadn't wanted it, I'm not the one to push you. Nudge you out of your comfort zone, yeah, sure - but not push you out of it. And in the end, she spent more than 200€ on that latex dress - so I think it's fair to say that it was good to make her try it on.

But - it backfired. Because then my friends were all over me to try on one myself. Which I really didn't want to. Yet they told me not to be a chicken and that it was unfair to make her try one and not do it myself. They just meant it for the best. They really did. None of them could've known or even guessed what I was going through in that changing room. Or when they made me come out. Or, and worst of all, afterwards. And the shop owner, too, just wanted my best and she really tried. She told me that the next couple of days, if I didn't try a dress on, I'd be wondering what I would look like, if it would suit me - and that I should just do it. I really tried to avoid it - but in the end I had no choice but to try on a dress.
What the shop owner didn't know is that now I can't get that picture out of my head. And not in a good way. It haunts me. It inflicts pain on me on a physical level.
I tried on a black latex dress with a silver underbreast corset. And it just looked wrong. I can't even put it into words here, in my safe place and haven. I have no words for how horrible I felt. How I really had to pull myself together not to break down in that changing room, to keep up the smile for my friends. I just don't have the body for that kind of slim fit latex stuff.
I've always struggled with being ... big. Not just weight-wise, but also being tall. When you feel all small and fragile on the inside, it's hard to not have a body that matches that. I like cute and feminine dresses and I just found the courage to wear those last summer. I almost made piece with my body. Almost. But that latex dress just dashed all that. With one look, I suddenly felt appalled and disgusted again. The sudden wave of self-hatred that swept over me crushed me for good. It showed all the worst of me.
I looked like a person too big squeezed in a dress too tight. A person who obviously couldn't pull that off, yet tried to look sexy. A little girl trying to act grown up. And what bothers me, too, is that I looked dominant. I know I can be rather dominant sometimes (and I'm even considering trying to switch with a partner), but it's not something I have made piece with yet by far! And it's certainly not something I want to look like. I can't really explain it. But I felt like one of those people on trash TV who have absolutely no self-reflection whatsoever.
I'm really lacking the words to describe how I felt and why and what I looked like. It was just like my worst nightmare in one image. And that image keeps haunting me. I don't even remember the details, just that feeling when I looked at my reflection in the mirror. And how I had to try to joke around with my friends and thank the shop owner who really tried hard to compile an outfit and probably even did a great job. Had it been for someone else.

I had a hard time recovering from that. At the disco, I actually hid in the toilet to cry. Trying not to make a sound or smear my makeup or be gone too long. I feel guilty posting this right now, because that one friend who reads the blog also went partying with us. But in that club, I then excused myself, saying a friend needed my help, and ran off to sit in a corner and cope with that disgust that threatened to burry me. It was in that club that I worded the previous post. If I had had a knife there - I don't even want to go there. I tried to distract myself then. And luckily they played really good music, so after giving in to the thoughts for an hour or so, I was able to let it go for the moment and enjoy the rest of the night.

Yet, the image of myself in that dress, the very worst version of myself (and the voices of my friends telling me it looked good - somehow making it even worse), haunts me still. Last night, when walking the dog, I nearly broke down in the forrest.

I have hated my body all my life. But it's hardly ever manifested in physical pain. The level of disgust had hardly ever been high enough to make my lungs cry out in actual pain. For real. Produce a noise that mirrors what's going on inside.

And I can't eat. I just can't. I still have to find an outfit for that fetish party. And all I know is that I can't eat.

But: thanks Sam for that comment. You made me cry. And cry in a good way. I had no idea you were still reading my blog. But all the comforting words can't help me right now.
I have a friend who said whenever I need him, I should call for his help. I suck at asking for help, I just can't. So we even have our little joke of me just sending him an exclamation mark for when I'm bad and he knows. I did send him that exclamation mark in that club, and he tried to talk to me. But he urges me to see a shrink when I really don't want to and can't. It already took my everything to ask him for help, a friend that I trust and know and who basically had to tell me over and over again that he needs me to talk to him when I'm not good. But to seek professional help? Not only don't I want to talk about my struggles with strangers, it also kind of - and stupidly so - feels like failing.
And I know that I can't ever turn to him again for help because he doesn't get it. Which is okay. It's hard to get it when you don't know if from your own struggles. But I would've needed him to come over and hug me tight and let me cry and just not talk. Not try to talk reason into me when I'm already beyond good and bad, beyond madness and reason, beyond wisdom or practicality. Just that physical reassurance and a safe place to give in to my feelings without trying to talk them away.

xoxo
Kiwi