Thursday, April 11, 2013


Sis 1 here . . .

It is interesting that Sis and I are on the same page with our thinking.  I had just had my own revelations the other day and she had hers yesterday.  So, tagging on to what she said . . .

I had an epiphany.  It's hard to put in to words, but here goes.

The other day, I was talking on the phone to Top (a very close, personal friend) and he asked me what I was wearing.  When I told him lounging pajamas, he said,

1.  "you must be cold natured, because you are always wearing long pants and staying covered up."

My response to that was that I was on the patio and people could see me.  He then said,

2.  "the Sis 1 (insert my name here), I knew wouldn't have cared about that and you must have lost your self-confidence."

Now, I do have self-confidence, but that has been rattling around in my brain for a few days.  It finally became clear . . . I lost my confidence for so many years and now I understand.

For years, Dickhead either would tell me something didn't look good on me or he just ignored me.  I don't think he meant to, but did it nonetheless.

I pinpointed when we stopped going out and doing things.  It was about 20 years ago.  (Yes, I know--long fucking time to tolerate shit!)  I had put on a little black dress, spiked heels, and wrapped this funky snake bracelet around my ankle.  He took one look and told me I looked like a hooker and to put on something less trashy.  Needless to say, we didn't go out that night.

Sidebar:  Top put this in perspective.  Dickhead didn't want other men looking at me.  Instead of soaking it in and being proud of me and how I looked, he was insecure and had to bring me to his level.  It worked for a very long time. {end sidebar}

For the majority of our life together, Dickhead pretty much ignored me and we didn't go anywhere or do anything.  I subconsciously started eating more, exercising less, and kept to myself.  I gained a lot of weight which made me more self conscious.  I started changing my clothing style--dressing more and more like a little old lady.  In other words, if I was invisible to him, I would be invisible to the world.

There were a couple periods--away from him--that I started changing back to the true me.  Both times, I ate better, exercised, and lost a lot of weight.  But once I was back with him, lost the confidence and gained back all the weight and more.

Now, I'm done with that shit.  I eating better, exercising more (although I really fucking hate exercising) and dressing better.  I'm happier than I've been in a very long time and that 17 year confident girl is shining through.  People are noticing--I smile A LOT, I laugh, I'm playful, and little things are not setting me off.  People are coming to me out of the blue and commenting on how happy I seem.  So, while I've been getting happier and this epiphany brought it all home, I have some self improvement still to go, starting with self love (minds out of the gutter).

I've done my time and now the Real Bitch is back!  Some would say, I've always maintained the Bitch, but really, it was a facade, a defense mechanism.  When I say the Bitch is back, I mean Babe In Total Control of Herself.

I am a good person who let an albatross hang around my neck too long.  I am intelligent, witty, and even pretty.  Even if I didn't think so myself, it's confirmed these days by other sources.  Not that confirmation is required, but when you've been hiding for 20 years, it's nice.

Another part of my epiphany was a book I was reading.  Not a self-help book, but a good, old-fashioned mystery/thriller.  The heroine was an older lady that realized she's become virtually invisible to society.  I identified with her and I swear I will not be invisible.  So look out world--I'm back and I take no prisoners.

In the words of Alanis Morissette:

I'm a bitch, I'm a love, I'm a child, I'm a mother
I'm a sinner, I'm a saint, I do not feel ashamed . . .
I've been numb, I'm revised can't say I'm not alive . . .

This one was long, but needed to get out.  Until next time, keep it #sassyandsarcastic . . . .

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