Master of Disguise

I’ve stopped wearing pants. Mostly because I’m afraid to put on my old ones and find out that they don’t fit. I also don’t want to buy new ones and discover the last time I bought pants I was a size 4 and now I’m well… I don’t want to know.
So, I’ll wear the same dresses on repeat because they aren’t judging the size or shape of my ass.
I imagine no one can tell under the billowing clothes that I’m suffering from low self esteem. That all this fabric is meant to distract you from what I don’t like about myself.
I can see it in the pictures taken of me, my face is much more round, my pooch-no longer identified as a feminine curve, it has to be called what it is: bloated. I show someone a picture of me from 4 years ago and they exclaim “it doesn’t look like you” I’ve begun to hear this a lot. I blame it on age or because I don’t take the pill anymore but really it’s because I’m 15-20lbs heavier now. I can’t hide my face in the pleats of a skirt. I can highlight and contour like a Kardashian all day, but I still don’t look like myself, or rather my best self.
Yet, with great relief I looked in the mirror the other day, now down 11lbs, and I said “oh hey!!! I know you!” I could see the old me peeking out from under the scars of the adult acne that ravaged my face 2 years ago. I recognize the girl I was and soon will be again. I put on a pair of her pants and wear them as if they were not just slightly too tight.


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