i bought a lot of "revealing" clothes in England.

When I first returned "home," I still wore some of them, like the halter tops. Others, like my 'belt' of a mini skirt, I knew I wouldn't wear in this country, but assumed I'd model again when I'd make my way back to the UK.

Around December, I looked at that short skirt and couldn't believe I ever wore something that short and that revealing. What right do i, a "fat girl," have to wear something like that? I couldn't wait to get back to the UK and wear it again. That feeling of empowerment from being able to reveal flesh if I wanted to was still in my brain; sleeping, perhaps, but there. And those halter-tops? Fuck, yeah, bring on the summer and I'd wear them.

Now, just two months later, I can't imagine ever having worn that stuff, much less the prospect of wearing it all again. I seriously can't picture decking myself out in a mini and a halter top. I just can't. I'm starting to feel uncomfortable wearing strappy tops now, for fuck's sake. Self conscious of not only the stomach, but the spreading arms, the chubby face. Self conscious of shirts that don't go down to my knees, worried it's showing too much of my stomach and ass. I've forgotten what it's like to not feel completely disgusted of myself when I look in a mirror.

More amazing than what I've forgotten, however, is what I remember. I remember why I only wore jeans and XL t-shirts for years. Baggy hid the rolls. Baggy was the reason why I never attracted anyone. I can't lose when I'm not even trying, can I?

Why bother with make-up, why fuss with hair, why worry about clothes when you're fat? Because, no matter what, fat means ugly. Might as well save the time, effort and energy for more important things. Like replacing the loneliness of absence with with the comfort of ever-present food.

It's a vicious cycle, I know.

And I've been talking to my friends in England a lot. Lots of drama, but also some fun. They are such great people and I love them to pieces; I miss being a part of their lives.

Kris is there visiting and had dinner with them last night. I thought I was jealous that she was going to the UK, just because she was in the UK; but I realised, after getting her emails, that I'm so jealous that she gets to see my friends.

I ache every time I talk to them because I just want to be there. They're so loving and giving and caring and so much fucking FUN! There's lots of drama and tensions, too, but.. UGH.

I should relax, I know. I've gotten at least one glowing reference for my MA (my UK tutor actually sent me the reference she wrote! And it's fantastic!), and hopefullyHOPEFULLYHOOOOOOPEFULLY i'll get in. hopefully.

. . .

I'm not really as unhappy as I seem. I guess I've only been writing in here when I've felt like I needed to. And. (AND!) I've been cheating. With livejournal. I'm sorry, d'land. I still love you.

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