More Than Average

 I am taller than average, bigger than average, and I weigh more than average. I have thick long dark blonde hair that is slowly turning gray. My eyes are blue/green/gray, depending on my mood. I have a very direct stare that I have been told can be intimidating. I have a smallish nose that is turned up at the end and thin lips. I have high cheekbones and pale skin, which is beginning to take a southward journey down my face.

My teeth are somewhat discolored, but they are straight. I have the Turner family wattle under my chin that will not go away, even with targeted exercises. My shoulders are broad and I have large full breasts that sag much more than I like. I have long arms and small musician hands.  My waist is non-existent. I have a flat ass and muscular legs that seem to benefit from exercise more than the rest of me. My feet are average size. The second toes on both feet are crooked and I have a dead nail on my right big toe.

I sometimes get compliments on my hair and eyes. I do have "resting bitch face" so I try to keep a pleasant expression. People used to ask me why I looked mad, or sad, or tired. Like many women with body dysphoria, I feel a disconnect between my mental picture of myself and what I see in the mirror every morning. If I need confidence for any reason, I skip looking deeply in the mirror.

I have been the poster child for self-loathing for most of my life. Even when I was dressed up, I only looked "OK" in my estimation. No one ever made a big deal about my appearance except for the fact that I dress for comfort, I don't look girly enough for most people in the South. Since I've been working from home, I don't bother with makeup unless I have to go out somewhere. I'm a personality type, rather than a good looks type. I would love to be one of the  self-confident "I know I'm fantastic" types, but I'm not. I cannot even imagine what that's like.

Time Marches On

 Why do I get so depressed on Sundays, even if I get to go somewhere and do something fun? Lately, it seems to be time pressing on me more than before: my husband and I talking about retirement coming up soon, my friend starting to have age-related problems with driving, my health, the current political situation, and my innate fatalism are most of the issues. How can I make peace with getting older without "giving up", as it were? I have regrets. I've been too scared most of my life to really go out and experience it. I never drank or did drugs, I was never brave enough to try starting a band, I never got into trouble, I mainly stayed in my room, inside my head, listening to records or reading. My imagination was vivid enough to comfort me while I was isolated.

I have to admit, I'm envious of some of the wild episodes my school friends indulged in. They sowed their wild oats while young, and then settled down to raise their families.  I suppose that I've always wanted to "fit in", yet the thought of that horrified me. I'm different and that should be OK. Still, a warm and comforting base would be so nice to have when I get tired of raging at the masses.  I liken the thought to being able to troll people from your mother's comforting embrace or a little kid staring out of the back of car, sticking her tongue out at you.

I don't mind getting older, I just mind being old and unhealthy. I know how many of my friends and relatives talk about how they're dealing with aging parents and most of the time. They're entering an extremely difficult phase in life and I sympathize. I took care of my Mom when she was dying and I was not bitter about it at all. I spent as much time with her everyday as I possibly could. 

I would have been absolutely no use to Mom or anyone else if I didn't have something else to think about during that time. My mental state was bad enough to start with. Mom would not have wanted that either. She would have known that I would be miserable and she never wanted that. Mom never had a problem with my needing so much "alone time", but members of my family sure did. They made me seem selfish, like I only cared about myself and no one else. The opposite was true: I cared too much probably about everyone except myself, and being alone was the only respite  I had. My college classes also helped;  it was something else to think about while I had to watch my Mom die before my eyes and I could not do anything about it.