“I don’t feel pretty enough for him anymore.”
Press Play To Listen To Doris Day “Que Sera, Sera” For The Soundtrack
I shouldn’t care, and yet I do.
I went to the beach with Bipee yesterday. I had fun up until I seen our pictures. We took great friends hanging out shots but I looked at the full body ones and there was a reason I kept my t-shirt on. I went into another rut and let myself go. I don’t want to go out with any guy anymore until I drop more weight.
There should be no reason to care I gained weight other than for health reasons, and yet, I don’t feel pretty enough for him anymore. Not after him perhaps seeing an old validation picture that I was told made me “intimidating”. I was many pounds thinner even though I wasn’t below a size 12 because of my chest at 135 lbs., but there were those dresses that I was at least a size extra large 14 because of my rib cage being so wide.
I could whittle my waist if I applied myself, and yet “if” is the key word to feel defeated by. I was depressed, excuse me! And yet there’s no one to give me grief about not looking like the other extreme of the spectrum where I was too depressed and stressed to eat and dropped weight fast.
When I was little, my mom would overfeed me the wrong kinds of food and gave me a life long complex by her pet name “Gorda” or “fat female”. When I weighed 110 lbs at 5’2”, she still called me that while my father calls me his “Reina” or “Liza Carcarisa” or “Liza Chuckle" which leaves how I look out of it. My mom cared too much about how her daughters looked.
I could tell you being considered “pretty” didn’t spare me getting picked on, actually it got me more bullied and back stabbed. Being “attractive” is overrated, especially when there’s no substance of character and a lack of integrity. And telling someone over and over they are “pretty” can set them up for a cruel reality check when they stopped being called “pretty”.
My looks caused my ex-husband to cheat on me without caring to hide it well but I was the “cheating, lying, wh*re'“ when I wasn’t a “stupid, f*cking, c*nt” when he was trying to excuse his infidelity by claiming I cheated on him. And after I began to lose weight again, that’s when he wanted me again. I never was attracted to him, our marriage wasn’t the right one to be in, so I got out. The truth will come out about the soap opera our marriage was.
And yet if I didn’t get into that abomination of a union, I wouldn’t have had my son, and I wouldn’t have met “The Pixie King” as he resembled one in the large patio chair he sat like a pixie did with being tall and lanky, if my ex didn’t drive me to the mad house when he instigated a PTSD flashback when he knew the recap of the 2nd episode of season 2 of ‘Sons of Anarchy’ would show the aftermath of ‘Gemma’s’ gang rape.
And even further yet, the stress of his continued abuse led me back to the same place to cross paths again.
It seemed it was still a case of our exes stressing us out. Me as an insomniac with going recluse, in limbo with my son, and him probably falling down drunk he had his moment of clarity, and knew to get himself help. It’s an interesting place to meet someone and yet it was perfect, if he was as interested as I am.
But I got he desires a thinner me with longer hair. He pictures the picture that by how it came out with my lips, its name “Yearning” seemed to fit perfectly. I have an idea of what he pictures my lips doing. I so f*cked up sharing that picture.
I regret now pulling the sex card to make him feel better as I now feel worse. I cried. I actually cried. I gave a f*ck about a guy’s opinion of me. Even more reason to take a break even as I dread the heavy food would make me gain even more weight.
I still remember him using his hands to describe the heavy set chick with the cat eye glasses back at the tree house where we all went to go feed the squirrels. They had more time to talk and suggested I break the ice and talk as being both a version of Kustom Kulture too. I don’t think I’m as heavy as she was, but I seen my full body shot and I’m welcoming the delay.
Even though there was “Jack Sprat” from Mother Goose nursery rhymes, It would be funny to be “La Gorda y El Flaco” where somehow we would thin out or fill out in the middle to average on our way to athletic. But as of right now, I don’t want to go through this feeling anymore where I care about a guy’s opinion of me.
Just 8 more days until I can get a ride to get away. I’m getting sick over this.
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