red dress

Leia asked me to try on her ballroom dress the other day.  I’m sure it’s expensive, it feels expensive, and I kind of dive into it.

“Don’t stretch it!”

After figuring out how to maneuver the lining and where to put my arms, I heard myself ask her to zip up the side.  And we kind of stood there in front of the mirror.  Actually, we definitely stood there.

Me:  “Interesting.”

Leia:  “That’s amazing…”

I realized then, in that moment, in a red dress, that I could totally pass.

 

Shit.

 

Days ensued, joy and panic interspersed between hours and minutes.  Fear and longing and the stark, stark realization of how much this is going to hurt.

Then I seem to have wrestled this rushing sense of inevitability to the ground.  I can’t do this.

But the dress fit perfectly.  It was beautiful, I was beautiful, and now?  Now I’m completely lost in this undefined social space.  I know I’m a woman, but what does that mean?  I ask myself, “Can I pull this off?”  And I do, I have to, it just is.

 

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june 3rd, 2013 (on a monday)

From my journal:

“I think often of what to write about in the blog, of when it will be indexed, of what people will think, what it will do, whether to pull the plug.  I feel healed by it though.  I feel like it just doesn’t matter when I look in the mirror.  I looked myself in the eye this morning, pointed to my eyes, and pointed at the eyes in the mirror, whatever this means.  Literally, it means, “I see you” in an aggressive sort of way, but this was playful.  In place of nail polish (I had an allergic reaction to the feed me basecoat last night I think) and feminine hair (there’s really no getting around my hairline or the fact that my hair just wants to be left alone for the most part), I feel like just knowing who I am and putting myself out there is enough.  As I wrote yesterday, it has to be…  at least now, in the moment.  Things may or may not get better, but I need to realize myself right now.  I see you.”