I like me for me

I am feeling amazing of late.

After at least ten years of being on and off anti-depressants, I have now gone a year medication free.

Any other time I have tried to wean myself off them, I have fallen, in a big bad way, but this time – I am doing amazingly.

That is not to say I don’t have my bad days, but they are, well, “regular folk” bad days and I have found that I can deal with them better now (even though there have been a number of occasions this year which would have had me running for my meds or worse.)

But this year, when things go wrong I am a lot less inclined to fall apart. Well, again, there may still be crying or spacing out a bit, but I think that is acceptable.

 The triangles seem to be, finally, falling into place for me.

 Instead of wallowing or binging and feeling guilty and thus wallowing (vicious circle, vicious circle), I sing at the top of my voice, or marathon watch Daria, or make collages, or look at my buttons, or bake Brendan cookies.

I don’t know if it’s because I am just a lot more comfortable and confident in Me, or if I am more comfortable because of this stuff, but either way,  even at my good points, previous to now, I haven’t been this comfortable in my own skin.

I feel SO  good about me – again, not every day – some days I have, nope, I am a giant whale moments, but then I pick myself up and sing trashy 80s songs, or belt out Ella Fitzgerald and dance around my whole house, singing into hairbrush-microphones to the audience that is my cat.

I have an hourglass figure – it’s just a bit more…zaftig…than that of other girls. He he.

To quote one of my many favourite fictional men (a few times)


After the female of the alpha couple in this book tries to prepare a meal without oil, flour or butter (because she’s trying to lose weight and is skimping on anything fatty or calorific) and ruins it completely.

“Here’s the truth. You’re never going to be thin. You’re a round woman. You have wipe hips and a round stomach […] the reason you can’t lose weight is that you’re not supposed to lose weight, you’re not built that way, and if you did manage through some stupid diet to take the weight off, you’d be like that chicken mess you just made. Some things are supposed to be made with butter. You’re one of them.”

“You have assets that skinny women will never have and you should be enjoying them and dressing like you enjoy them. Or at least dressing so others can enjoy them.”

“Sexy is in your head and [if] you don’t feel sexy […] you don’t look it.”

(Swoon. We love Charm Boy a fair bit.)

So instead of avoiding “skinny girl” stores, or clothes that I think are really pretty and thus meaning I do not deserve to wear them or saying to myself, oh that would look nice, if I were skinny, I try them on.

If they don’t fit, they don’t fit.

If they do and if they feel pretty, sexy, and comfortable, they become mine.

(Obviously there are some limitations – boob tubes/leggings as pants are never going to be my friend... but that may not be a bad thing at all.)

 But if I see a pale coloured shirt or dress, instead of, oh no, you can’t wear light colours, you’ll look massive, I look to the positive – the style is sexy and I am gorgeous in it!

And I think, to some extent, that I must exude that.

Several people have said in the past month or two that I am looking really good and I feel great about my...well,  my me – for example, a week ago J.Mac and I went out and spent the afternoon posing (and not posing) for a series of photos taken by Miss A, for a dear new friend.

She took about 300 photos and we used about half. And out of all of them, there was probably only about 10 percent that I didn’t like of myself.

Aren't we just a little rockstar here?

This is a really big deal for me as I am usually a, no-take-20-photos-and-pick-the-best-one-then-shop-it person, because I don’t like the way I look in them.

But I love these – it helps that the guy in the photos with me is an incredibly wonderful friend, who boosts my ego immensely and is just oodles of fun.

He is my late night, laugh-irriffic, sing-a-long glorious boy. A great number/most of my friends are guys, but Joely is probably my best guy friend, outside of Brendan.
But I digress.






Looking back on this, it is again very ranty and I just sound very self obsessed, but I think I am allowed.

After far too many years of being terribly wracked with guilt, self-loathing, doubt etc etc, I am finally in a really good place and I can be anything I want to be.

A good friend of mine went on a big shopping spree the other day that she put a skirt on layby, and that it was a Katy skirt.

I liked that.



Katy.

That is my style.

I’m no longer a little girl, a tomboy, a wannabe goth/metal/weirdo chick, a slob, or anything else.

I am me.

I am Katy.

I am bows and cardigans and skirts and dresses and stockings (and a decided lack of trousers) and stars and red lipstick and long hair and red shoes and bracelets.

I am funky, pretty, retro, flowy, stripey, feminine, kooky, kitsch, sexy, soft, shiny, bright.



I am Katy.

And I am absolutely fantastic.