On Bra Shopping

I am currently quite depressed. In other words, I just went bra shopping.

Okay. So welcome to reality, Self. I seem somehow unable to realize that the only women I've seen in just their skivvies just happen to be lingerie models, and take it as an opportunity to beat up on myself. Let's be honest, though: I'm not one of those girls who just has body image issues because of the media, and is actually healthy and perfect the way she is. The truth is, I'm carrying quite a bit of extra weight. I'm not blaming the media for that. I'm just making the statement that it's unfair to compare myself to the lingerie models when I know that there are plenty of women who look more like me that feel pretty comfortable in their own skin. I wish I were those women.

Instead, I make myself sick with horror upon looking in the mirror. Every part of my body represents some sort of flaw, and that's hardly an exaggeration (I've just done a mental scan of my body from head to toe, and my lips came out unscathed, but everything else is subject to rejection--EVERYTHING). That's not to say that I'm unhappy with every part of my body every second of my life: sometimes, I think to myself, "My hair looks really good today," or even, "Man, I'm sexy," but mostly it ends up being stuff like, "Your cuticles are gross," or "You have ugly kneecaps," and stuff like that. I've only just realized in typing that out that usually, when I feel good about myself, I'll speak in first person. When I'm talking down to myself, I use the second person. I'm sure there is some deep psychological reason for that--something like I'm trying to distance myself from what I disapprove about myself.

I keep trying to talk myself into being friends with myself again, but I am losing the battle with myself. I keep forgetting to tell myself that I'm beautiful, etc. I wish I believed that more. Maybe if I really believed that I were beautiful, I'd convince others of the same.