It’s About To Get Real

For the love of bullet points …

• I do not like not knowing how to do makeup.
• I do not like this side of me.
• I do not like knowing where every scar came from.
• I do not like looking myself in the eye. The mirror magnifies.
• I do not like the way hair grows on my body.
• The way it makes me feel like a man.
• A man trying to make it as a woman.
• How black and coarse the hair is.
• I do not like how it grows on my toes.
• It’s gross.
• I do not like my “below the waist” self.
• It is physically exhausting to carry some days.
• I despise my spider veins.
• I do not like how my stomach bulges out every single time I eat anything at all.
• I do not like how when I try to suck it in, it’s painful and obvious.
• I do not like feeling as if I look pregnant after I eat, when I’ve never had sex.
• I do not like the life long struggle of having acne.
• Seriously, it’s old and tired.
• I do not like being tired!
• I do not like that I am 32 and in my first relationship.
• I do not like feeling this way when my boyfriend tells me I am pretty.
• I do not like keeping all of this inside …

Who knew? Not me.

It is quite a concept for me to believe that I have the opportunity and privilege to be the strong one … that I can be a friend to another who is in need. How can I possibly be worthy? My moods are unpredictable … I isolate … I become invisible … I have gross thoughts. I’m not the outgoing friend. (Unless, of course, I am convincing someone it’s safe to freefall drop two stories onto a giant pillow. Anyone?) I am not good enough or stable enough to be a new friend to another. I have never been. How do I respond when a friend who really gets me in all the good and bad encourages me to be do and be? I do. I be. And I hang on to every ounce of faith she knows what she’s doing.