Journey of a Thousand Miles...

The Bad The last few weeks have been a bit crazy.  I will be having surgery, hopefully sooner than later, that will, hopefully, once and for all, get rid of this chronic breast infection that has ruled my life for the last five years. The surgery is terrifying to me, but at this point it is completely necessary.  I have been a lot sicker than I have let pretty much everyone know and I can't take it anymore.  So, I will be getting an MRI done on Friday, remain on a strong antibiotic, and based on the results of the test, the surgical plan will be set up.  It will either be a smaller surgery than expected to try and clean out the infected tissue and then possible do the larger surgery a bit later, or if the MRI gives the doctors the info the need and it all looks good, they will go ahead and do the bigger surgery. Neither course of action makes me happy because I hate surgery. Surgery causes a massive autoimmune flare, during which, as I experienced in past surgeries, leave me i

I came to a realization very late the other night.  To most of you it will sound silly, ridiculous even, but for me it is huge. I used to wear clothes that let my personality shine through.  I wore clothes that fit my body perfectly and showed off my curves.  After the first rape I started to wear clothes dark enough and baggy enough that I went unnoticed. I spent years simply trying to blend into the background.  Once I got my legs under me again, I started dressing in clothes that made me feel OK.  Not great, just OK. Then the second rape happened, followed by the miscarriage, and I just gave up.  I wear baggy clothes that are pretty, but don't make me feel like me. The other night, I started scrolling through this clothing site that I got a shirt from back in March.  It was the first thing that I put on in years that made me feel beautiful and sexy and like me.  I was just looking through the shirts and soon found myself adding items to a wishlist that made me feel like my