The Purge Part 4: Premium Denim.

This is a post about purging poor body image.

I went to the doctor again on Monday. It was a truly horrific experience--6 hours to be told you need more tests and must take another day off of work to come back?

Okay, half day. I'll be at the Studio in the morning, but Gallery must do without me that day.

As long as I'm coming clean, I might as well tell you the only piece of information I ever really want to know when I visit my GP--how much do I weigh? One hundred nineteen. For you new readers, I was, but three months ago, a bangin' 153 with an ass to match. Now my ass is flat and the two pairs of jeans that [sort of] fit me hang in the back like I crapped my pants after a couple wears.

I've given up the dream that I'll miraculously gain back the 30 pounds (actually, it's 34 now) but I haven't really gotten used to the way my body looks. In case you were wondering, it's completely destroyed--my skin hangs off of me loosely, my boobs are deflated, and my legs look chickeny and thin.

I've always told the women around me to "rock whatever you got, as hard as you can", so why am I having such a hard time taking my own advice?

I've got to purge this hatred of my body and this dependency on the scale. I've got to suck it up and buy some new jeans without fearing they won't fit in a couple months because guess what? They will. It's time to admit that last time I dropped a dramatic amount of weight that it took 4 years to gain it back. It's time to tell my thyroid function to fuck off, and that I laugh at danger and break all the rules.

It's time to rock whatever I got as hard as I can.

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