Two sides..and then some

There are always two sides of a story..and then a few more. These sides tend to manipulate into dangerous foregrounds if there is no communication. One person feels slighted while the other person feels just as awful towards the first and then others get involved and it becomes a huge train wreck of deception, lies, sides, stories, fear, anger, hate, sadness, awkwardness… With this, isn’t it easier to just get to the facts and talk it out with the other party? Sure..if you are a confronter. I, on the other hand, am definitely a passive person. I get very upset very quickly but never know how to convey exactly how I’m feeling to the other person. If I ever manage to gather enough courage to do so, it turns out to be a mess of a mess. With this as being the usual result, I stay away from conflict and go my own way, sweeping my feelings under the big rug of Passive Aggressiveness. Yes, it’s a rug. A BIG rug. My rug is so big, I could probably wrap myself in it like a mummy a few times over.

Well tonight, ladies and gentlemen, I stopped sweeping and I started cleaning. Yes, of course the conversation started to go into train wreck mode, but then I calmed down and remembered that I can’t come off like I’m attacking someone, so I stepped back and attempted to explain, rather than accuse. Of course, it was very emotional and it’s always a heart attack waiting to happen for me, but it was well needed and very overdue.

I don’t really know the outcome of this whole situation, but I know that I finally took the first step of peace making (not peace keeping, mind you). I gave my heart on a silver platter and took the stab. Will things change after a conversation like this? Will the one believe the other’s side and vice versa? After the two sides meet, do they try to mend the bridge or do they continue to burn it, log by log..I’m tired of burning things, if you really want to know the truth..Too many burns means too many scars. The mending wall takes longer but it heals.

A  heart can feel like a thousand shattered pieces of glass ..Just being overwhelmed and worried and even relieved that everything was said and done for the greater good and for the hope of new life in a relationship. I trust that God will help mend this broken heart and the other side’s broken heart.

and this is two sides..and then some.

*side note*(this isnt about my boyfriend..so don’t worry..but no one will know who this is about either )

This song is my life..

I know a girl,
She puts the color inside of my world
But she’s just like a maze
Where all of the walls all continually change

And I’ve done all I can
To stand on her steps with my heart in my hands
Now I’m starting to see
Maybe it’s got nothing to do with me

CHORUS
Fathers, be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do
Girls become lovers who turn into mothers
So mothers, be good to your daughters too

Oh, you see that skin?
It’s the same she’s been standing in
Since the day she saw him walking away
Now she’s left, cleaning up the mess he made

CHORUS
Fathers, be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do
Girls become lovers who turn into mothers
So mothers, be good to your daughters too

Boys, you can break
You’ll find out how much they can take
Boys will be strong and boys soldier on
But boys would be gone without warmth from
A woman’s good, good heart

On behalf of every man
Looking out for every girl
You are the god and the weight of her world

———-

blah..di blah..

I don’t really even know where to start anymore. Lately, I’ve been feeling like blah. Blah blah blah. I haven’t been really confident in myself. I’m having trouble with controlling my weight and not being able to wrap my head around controlling the food again. I don’t feel stressed per say but I just feel like all I’m doing is going to school and then working. I’m tired of the struggle…and I can’t snap out of it. I don’t even know what to do.. I need someone to kick my butt…to just keep on top of me and be like “let’s go walking, let’s go to the gym”..I have TC, but I really wish I had a girl to do this with. I need a girl/woman who knows how I feel and just help me out. I feel stuck right now…

:-/

I dub myself the plus size model.

So, take it or leave it!

I watched a documentary today on the creation of the bikini. It was marvelous. During WWII, the US rationed off a lot of supplies and one of the items they decided to ration was the cloth on bathing suits. So what did that mean? You guessed it. They ordered bathing suits to eliminate 10% of its fabric. That meant a mere 4-5 inches right underneath the bust, and right above the belly button. Though it raised tons and tons and tons of controversy throughout the world, the bikini found its way to every girl’s closet in the next ten years.

The whole idea behind the bikini (after its original idea for its birth) was the freedom of the woman’s body. It was the idea that women could not wear a bra but then put on a bikini and say to the world, “Hello! This is my body and I just don’t care what you think! I’m wearing a bikini to celebrate my body!”

Though this idea is completely skewed today-bikinis now more of an epidemic of skinny girl-itis and the constant worry that your legs are too fat and your stomach isn’t flat enough and your arms are too flabby- it is still a powerful tool that women use to have a sort of mysterious power that ONLY women can obtain.

After this wonderful documentary, I watched a fashion show with an up and coming designer who was trying to get her clothes to sell at a Neimann Marcus store and the host of the show (who was helping her out) told her to cut a dress out for a size 8 model to  show that she’s creating pieces for the everyday woman. Now, I understand that the average woman is probably the size 8, if not between 6-12. Kudos to all of you beautiful women. But I was just blown away that when the model (size 8 ) walked into the room, the designer (who was a woman) looked at her and was absolutely devastated. She asked, “WHY IS THERE A PLUS SIZED MODEL HERE?!”  I’m sorry, but when did a size 8 become the new size 12 or 14 or even 16? I was thoroughly upset, as you can see.

This made me snap out of my wallowing state towards my own body as of late. It’s really hard to lose weight while at school and work because I feel like I never had time to prepare food for the next day, so I eat whatever comes my way. And yes, I’m jumping back on a healthier balanced diet on Monday with my mom, along with continually hitting the gym, but I really have to just love my body now. To love my body now means that I want the best for it which will help me continue to fill it with great food and to exercise it. And so what that I’m a plus size? So many of us are and with the right style and knowledge about what looks great with your body type, anyone can look amazing! I probably always will be a “plus size” according to America’s standards, but I’m also 6′ tall and am big boned. And I think for the first time in my life, I’m totally ok to be of model-esque structure.  I just want to lose a few pounds and find a place that makes fabulous clothes for tall women!

Anyway, I’m tired of myself being ashamed of the clothing size I am. I’m a 16. I am plus sized.  And I am proud of the woman I am. I carry myself well because I make it my business to know how to dress my pear shaped, hour glass, whatever you want to call it, body.

And who knows, maybe this summer I’ll be busting out my very own body-lovin’ bikini!

Why now..

Insecurity..my nemesis.

I honestly don’t know what I’m doing here. I feel like a poser, a fraud..being in college is for someone smarter than me, it seems. Why do I feel so unintelligent in my Lit. classes? They speak of Frost and Hardy and Yeats as if someone gave them the answer to the depths of their soul. Well, where can I pay the toll to get the answers too? I want to know the secret to poetry and British play on words. I want to know why I cannot come up with or comprehend these insane comments or interpretations of literature. Am I not supposed to be here? Am I not supposed to try to love this? I love reading. I almost love writing. So why do I fail at this? Why do I fail at feeling like I’m good at something? I feel like I have no drive anymore..did I ever have drive? I feel like I’m not passionate about anything in particular. I don’t live for Literature. I don’t live for music. I love them both, but I go about for days without doing either, it seems. Does that mean I’m a failure? A failure to be passionate? The only thing I’m passionate about these days is stuffing my face with pasta alfredo and hot dogs. I hate this feeling. I feel worried all the time. Anxious. To top it off, I don’t think I’m going to be able to finish on time at school. I completely looked over two classes that are a requirement and it’s setting me back for summer classes. I feel like I can’t finish. Will I even be a good teacher? I’ve never taught a class and the thought of it makes me want to vomit sometimes. What if they hate me? What if I suck? What if I tell them a verb is really an adjective? Oh God…what am I doing here.. I feel like curling up in the fetal position and crying for a week. Is this how every other college student feels eventually? Before the breakthrough? Is there a meltdown? A regurgitated complaint of three years of suffering into one week of agony? Does it hit everyone like a bag of bricks? (A big bag, I might add)..Everyone tells me to relax, but no one understands.. they don’t understand how I’m feeling. How I’m functioning. I’m floating day to night, night to day, wondering when I’ll wake up and know that I’m doing the right thing. Can I just have a sign? Maybe I just needed to write. Sometimes I feel better when I plaster my soul on this blog thing. Sometimes just knowing that other people know at least SOMETHING about my insides helps me get through. Maybe they’ve been here too. Maybe this is just normal and I don’t know it yet. If that’s the case, then oh boy. I don’t want this. Maybe I should try to write a novel and forget everything else. Screw reading other authors’ books and poems, I’ll write my own!

 

I think I’m done. West Wing will save me.