Yeah, i only have two. I got them over a year ago when dad was visiting. One thing he really wanted to do with me was take me out clothes shopping. I know it was with the best intentions; i'm guessing his step-daughter loves when he takes her out clothes shopping, and my sister probably did too back when they were still talking. But me? Really? I started freaking out before we even got to the store, then i sat there like his and J's fucking Barbie doll trying on outfit after outfit. I felt sick, absolutely sick, and i just didn't know what to do because they refused to listen. "Don't be silly, trust us, you look great, you need to have some more smart clothes, they'll make you feel good..." I've heard it all a million times before and i hate it every time. I'm actually getting anxious and shaking just thinking about it. How many times do i have to say no before people believe me? Do i really have to tell my father and my partner to fuck off for them to get the message? That's not me, i can't do that. Anyway, he bought me two tops that stayed in the back of my closet unworn until my first job interview a couple months back. So i guess some use came out of all the pain.
It's not that i hate fashion, you know. I love it. I love the clothes, the make-up, the glamor and art of it all. I love all the zany costumery that youth subcultures dream up. I just don't feel like i need to exhibit that passion in my own clothing. There were a few short periods in my life when i did, usually when i was on some dumbass manic trip where i decided i really needed to look like "whatever" because "whatever" was, like, SO deeply defining of my true inner self and bla bla bla. But, well, we all know how random manic whims tend to turn out for me. Yeah.
Problem is because of my random manic whim to change my sex, my reluctance to get dressed up has gone from "wow wearing a shirt and tie is such a pain in the ass" to "every time i put this top on i actually feel like shooting myself in the head". And then all i see is that splatter of brains on the mirror, which makes applying make-up kinda difficult. Of course to anyone else i look just fine - probably both beautiful and professional, in fact. It's become a serious fucking issue in my life, one that i've mostly avoided for the last 10 years because i've been allowed to dress down at work.
Earlier this week i got an offer to spend a year consulting... It's an appealing job on paper (aside from being tied to full-time work), but what's making me shrink back from it is the knowledge i'd be flying all over Canada and the US talking to healthcare execs, and i'd need to look the part. That's really fucking scary to me. I know people figure what's the big deal about wearing a suit? It's just clothes, right? Ironically in 1999 that's exactly what i told myself to get over the discomfort i felt about having to "cross-dress" to go to work. So i got my shit together and walked in five days a week with a pressed shirt and silk tie and my hair back looking the best man i could be. But now the same justification doesn't work because it hurts too fucking much. Maybe dressing smartly wasn't so bad when i was doing it as a guy? Or did it hurt just as much and i was so manically driven that i didn't care what i had to do to get what i wanted? I could do with a little of that manic drive right now, because anxiety and depression is fucking paralyzing me.
But you know. Aside from that whole bitch session, today has actually been pretty good. Funny thing about depression - when you're there you don't really have the motivation to complain much about it. So i can tell when things are turning around because i start ranting heh