Vulnerability time again.

Vulnerability time again.

So, in the bucket of "semi-innocuous things that can fuck you up for life", I cried this morning after waking from a stupid anxiety dream.

Why? Well strap in...

All my life people have told me I'm attractive (boo-hoo, right?). Which also means, all my life I've had people tell me I'm vain, or shallow, or that I'm using my looks manipulatively. People have also informed me that looks don't last, and that I'd "better have a plan B"¹ for when they inevitably fade.

¹ not that kind of plan B

And, with brains being the lovely little pattern-seeking machines they are, mine condensed this down to "People like/hate you for your looks. If you're not pretty enough, you're worthless; if you're too pretty you're a bad person".

I've written before about my ex-spouse who told me, in a crowded cafe, "people only listen to you because you're fuckable" (this was in response to telling them that two psychologists had favorably reviewed my paper on autism self-diagnostic criteria)

I've also written about how I never really found myself attractive until just recently (thanks therapy, healthy relationships, and Fedi). I recognized that other folx did—or at least said they did, but—with my lifelong history of abuse—I didn't see it. I think it took, at least in part, having a healthy, loving, asexual partner for me to start liking myself in new ways. And, as she said after I told her about the dream this morning, "if I'm using you for your body, I'm doing a really bad job of it"

So what was the dream? It was a pretty basic theater anxiety dream.

I was in a play (playing the male lead, I think), and I'd spent the morning doing my costume and makeup for the part. Someone ran by and let me know I was on in 7 minutes. It was then I realized no one had given me a script, and I didn't know anything about my lines or the play. A perfectly reasonable panic attack ensued, and then I woke up.

Now, I don't usually read into dreams; dreams are my brain's equivalent of DOS6 running defrag. But this one was pretty on the nose.

I had spent all my time trying to look the role, and had completely failed to do the part that matters...and now it was too late—I was the pretty one with no substance.

#Beauty #Dreams #Therapy #MentalHealth #Anxiety #Abuse

Vulnerability time again.

So, in the bucket of "semi-innocuous things that can fuck you up for life", I cried this morning after waking from a stupid anxiety dream.

Why? Well strap in...

All my life people have told me I'm attractive (boo-hoo, right?). Which also means, all my life I've had people tell me I'm vain, or shallow, or that I'm using my looks manipulatively. People have also informed me that looks don't last, and that I'd "better have a plan B"¹ for when they inevitably fade.

¹ not that kind of plan B

And, with brains being the lovely little pattern-seeking machines they are, mine condensed this down to "People like/hate you for your looks. If you're not pretty enough, you're worthless; if you're too pretty you're a bad person".

I've written before about my ex-spouse who told me, in a crowded cafe, "people only listen to you because you're fuckable" (this was in response to telling them that two psychologists had favorably reviewed my paper on autism self-diagnostic criteria)

I've also written about how I never really found myself attractive until just recently (thanks therapy, healthy relationships, and Fedi). I recognized that other folx did—or at least said they did, but—with my lifelong history of abuse—I didn't see it. I think it took, at least in part, having a healthy, loving, asexual partner for me to start liking myself in new ways. And, as she said after I told her about the dream this morning, "if I'm using you for your body, I'm doing a really bad job of it"

So what was the dream? It was a pretty basic theater anxiety dream.

I was in a play (playing the male lead, I think), and I'd spent the morning doing my costume and makeup for the part. Someone ran by and let me know I was on in 7 minutes. It was then I realized no one had given me a script, and I didn't know anything about my lines or the play. A perfectly reasonable panic attack ensued, and then I woke up.

Now, I don't usually read into dreams; dreams are my brain's equivalent of DOS6 running defrag. But this one was pretty on the nose.

I had spent all my time trying to look the role, and had completely failed to do the part that matters...and now it was too late—I was the pretty one with no substance.

#Beauty #Dreams #Therapy #MentalHealth #Anxiety #Abuse

Vulnerability time again.

So, in the bucket of "semi-innocuous things that can fuck you up for life", I cried this morning after waking from a stupid anxiety dream.

Why? Well strap in...

All my life people have told me I'm attractive (boo-hoo, right?). Which also means, all my life I've had people tell me I'm vain, or shallow, or that I'm using my looks manipulatively. People have also informed me that looks don't last, and that I'd "better have a plan B"¹ for when they inevitably fade.

¹ not that kind of plan B

And, with brains being the lovely little pattern-seeking machines they are, mine condensed this down to "People like/hate you for your looks. If you're not pretty enough, you're worthless; if you're too pretty you're a bad person".

I've written before about my ex-spouse who told me, in a crowded cafe, "people only listen to you because you're fuckable" (this was in response to telling them that two psychologists had favorably reviewed my paper on autism self-diagnostic criteria)

I've also written about how I never really found myself attractive until just recently (thanks therapy, healthy relationships, and Fedi). I recognized that other folx did—or at least said they did, but—with my lifelong history of abuse—I didn't see it. I think it took, at least in part, having a healthy, loving, asexual partner for me to start liking myself in new ways. And, as she said after I told her about the dream this morning, "if I'm using you for your body, I'm doing a really bad job of it"

So what was the dream? It was a pretty basic theater anxiety dream.

I was in a play (playing the male lead, I think), and I'd spent the morning doing my costume and makeup for the part. Someone ran by and let me know I was on in 7 minutes. It was then I realized no one had given me a script, and I didn't know anything about my lines or the play. A perfectly reasonable panic attack ensued, and then I woke up.

Now, I don't usually read into dreams; dreams are my brain's equivalent of DOS6 running defrag. But this one was pretty on the nose.

I had spent all my time trying to look the role, and had completely failed to do the part that matters...and now it was too late—I was the pretty one with no substance.

#Beauty #Dreams #Therapy #MentalHealth #Anxiety #Abuse

Vulnerability time again.

So, in the bucket of "semi-innocuous things that can fuck you up for life", I cried this morning after waking from a stupid anxiety dream.

Why? Well strap in...

All my life people have told me I'm attractive (boo-hoo, right?). Which also means, all my life I've had people tell me I'm vain, or shallow, or that I'm using my looks manipulatively. People have also informed me that looks don't last, and that I'd "better have a plan B"¹ for when they inevitably fade.

¹ not that kind of plan B

And, with brains being the lovely little pattern-seeking machines they are, mine condensed this down to "People like/hate you for your looks. If you're not pretty enough, you're worthless; if you're too pretty you're a bad person".

I've written before about my ex-spouse who told me, in a crowded cafe, "people only listen to you because you're fuckable" (this was in response to telling them that two psychologists had favorably reviewed my paper on autism self-diagnostic criteria)

I've also written about how I never really found myself attractive until just recently (thanks therapy, healthy relationships, and Fedi). I recognized that other folx did—or at least said they did, but—with my lifelong history of abuse—I didn't see it. I think it took, at least in part, having a healthy, loving, asexual partner for me to start liking myself in new ways. And, as she said after I told her about the dream this morning, "if I'm using you for your body, I'm doing a really bad job of it"

So what was the dream? It was a pretty basic theater anxiety dream.

I was in a play (playing the male lead, I think), and I'd spent the morning doing my costume and makeup for the part. Someone ran by and let me know I was on in 7 minutes. It was then I realized no one had given me a script, and I didn't know anything about my lines or the play. A perfectly reasonable panic attack ensued, and then I woke up.

Now, I don't usually read into dreams; dreams are my brain's equivalent of DOS6 running defrag. But this one was pretty on the nose.

I had spent all my time trying to look the role, and had completely failed to do the part that matters...and now it was too late—I was the pretty one with no substance.

#Beauty #Dreams #Therapy #MentalHealth #Anxiety #Abuse

Vulnerability time again.

So, in the bucket of "semi-innocuous things that can fuck you up for life", I cried this morning after waking from a stupid anxiety dream.

Why? Well strap in...

All my life people have told me I'm attractive (boo-hoo, right?). Which also means, all my life I've had people tell me I'm vain, or shallow, or that I'm using my looks manipulatively. People have also informed me that looks don't last, and that I'd "better have a plan B"¹ for when they inevitably fade.

¹ not that kind of plan B

And, with brains being the lovely little pattern-seeking machines they are, mine condensed this down to "People like/hate you for your looks. If you're not pretty enough, you're worthless; if you're too pretty you're a bad person".

I've written before about my ex-spouse who told me, in a crowded cafe, "people only listen to you because you're fuckable" (this was in response to telling them that two psychologists had favorably reviewed my paper on autism self-diagnostic criteria)

I've also written about how I never really found myself attractive until just recently (thanks therapy, healthy relationships, and Fedi). I recognized that other folx did—or at least said they did, but—with my lifelong history of abuse—I didn't see it. I think it took, at least in part, having a healthy, loving, asexual partner for me to start liking myself in new ways. And, as she said after I told her about the dream this morning, "if I'm using you for your body, I'm doing a really bad job of it"

So what was the dream? It was a pretty basic theater anxiety dream.

I was in a play (playing the male lead, I think), and I'd spent the morning doing my costume and makeup for the part. Someone ran by and let me know I was on in 7 minutes. It was then I realized no one had given me a script, and I didn't know anything about my lines or the play. A perfectly reasonable panic attack ensued, and then I woke up.

Now, I don't usually read into dreams; dreams are my brain's equivalent of DOS6 running defrag. But this one was pretty on the nose.

I had spent all my time trying to look the role, and had completely failed to do the part that matters...and now it was too late—I was the pretty one with no substance.

#Beauty #Dreams #Therapy #MentalHealth #Anxiety #Abuse

@alice

oof. being Conventionally Attractive must be like being the Gifted Kid. you have "so much potential" to live up to some generic-ass mainstream expectations!

but nobody ever tells you how to live up to those expectations (god damn what a perfect metaphor in that dream) and living up to your own desires is never considered an option.

@alice
Mmm… you are attractive, it’s not about your looks, yes while those are good you have plenty of other skills, I’m not going to mention what they are 🥰. Besides it’s your personality and compassion, kindness and how you rock life. There’s very few people I would trust my life with. You are one of them.

Vulnerability time again.

So, in the bucket of "semi-innocuous things that can fuck you up for life", I cried this morning after waking from a stupid anxiety dream.

Why? Well strap in...

All my life people have told me I'm attractive (boo-hoo, right?). Which also means, all my life I've had people tell me I'm vain, or shallow, or that I'm using my looks manipulatively. People have also informed me that looks don't last, and that I'd "better have a plan B"¹ for when they inevitably fade.

¹ not that kind of plan B

And, with brains being the lovely little pattern-seeking machines they are, mine condensed this down to "People like/hate you for your looks. If you're not pretty enough, you're worthless; if you're too pretty you're a bad person".

I've written before about my ex-spouse who told me, in a crowded cafe, "people only listen to you because you're fuckable" (this was in response to telling them that two psychologists had favorably reviewed my paper on autism self-diagnostic criteria)

I've also written about how I never really found myself attractive until just recently (thanks therapy, healthy relationships, and Fedi). I recognized that other folx did—or at least said they did, but—with my lifelong history of abuse—I didn't see it. I think it took, at least in part, having a healthy, loving, asexual partner for me to start liking myself in new ways. And, as she said after I told her about the dream this morning, "if I'm using you for your body, I'm doing a really bad job of it"

So what was the dream? It was a pretty basic theater anxiety dream.

I was in a play (playing the male lead, I think), and I'd spent the morning doing my costume and makeup for the part. Someone ran by and let me know I was on in 7 minutes. It was then I realized no one had given me a script, and I didn't know anything about my lines or the play. A perfectly reasonable panic attack ensued, and then I woke up.

Now, I don't usually read into dreams; dreams are my brain's equivalent of DOS6 running defrag. But this one was pretty on the nose.

I had spent all my time trying to look the role, and had completely failed to do the part that matters...and now it was too late—I was the pretty one with no substance.

#Beauty #Dreams #Therapy #MentalHealth #Anxiety #Abuse

@alice
🫂

You are appreciated,
You are seen,
You are worthy of love,
You are kind,
You are funny,
You are smart,
You share your knowledge and quips freely,
You give so much of yourself,
You have created and foster a community - a home for many that may not have one otherwise,
You are this and so, so much more

You are loved for who you are without any kind of toll requirement to be met. It is your heart and mind that did all these and so much more

Vulnerability time again.

So, in the bucket of "semi-innocuous things that can fuck you up for life", I cried this morning after waking from a stupid anxiety dream.

Why? Well strap in...

All my life people have told me I'm attractive (boo-hoo, right?). Which also means, all my life I've had people tell me I'm vain, or shallow, or that I'm using my looks manipulatively. People have also informed me that looks don't last, and that I'd "better have a plan B"¹ for when they inevitably fade.

¹ not that kind of plan B

And, with brains being the lovely little pattern-seeking machines they are, mine condensed this down to "People like/hate you for your looks. If you're not pretty enough, you're worthless; if you're too pretty you're a bad person".

I've written before about my ex-spouse who told me, in a crowded cafe, "people only listen to you because you're fuckable" (this was in response to telling them that two psychologists had favorably reviewed my paper on autism self-diagnostic criteria)

I've also written about how I never really found myself attractive until just recently (thanks therapy, healthy relationships, and Fedi). I recognized that other folx did—or at least said they did, but—with my lifelong history of abuse—I didn't see it. I think it took, at least in part, having a healthy, loving, asexual partner for me to start liking myself in new ways. And, as she said after I told her about the dream this morning, "if I'm using you for your body, I'm doing a really bad job of it"

So what was the dream? It was a pretty basic theater anxiety dream.

I was in a play (playing the male lead, I think), and I'd spent the morning doing my costume and makeup for the part. Someone ran by and let me know I was on in 7 minutes. It was then I realized no one had given me a script, and I didn't know anything about my lines or the play. A perfectly reasonable panic attack ensued, and then I woke up.

Now, I don't usually read into dreams; dreams are my brain's equivalent of DOS6 running defrag. But this one was pretty on the nose.

I had spent all my time trying to look the role, and had completely failed to do the part that matters...and now it was too late—I was the pretty one with no substance.

#Beauty #Dreams #Therapy #MentalHealth #Anxiety #Abuse

Vulnerability time again.

So, in the bucket of "semi-innocuous things that can fuck you up for life", I cried this morning after waking from a stupid anxiety dream.

Why? Well strap in...

All my life people have told me I'm attractive (boo-hoo, right?). Which also means, all my life I've had people tell me I'm vain, or shallow, or that I'm using my looks manipulatively. People have also informed me that looks don't last, and that I'd "better have a plan B"¹ for when they inevitably fade.

¹ not that kind of plan B

And, with brains being the lovely little pattern-seeking machines they are, mine condensed this down to "People like/hate you for your looks. If you're not pretty enough, you're worthless; if you're too pretty you're a bad person".

I've written before about my ex-spouse who told me, in a crowded cafe, "people only listen to you because you're fuckable" (this was in response to telling them that two psychologists had favorably reviewed my paper on autism self-diagnostic criteria)

I've also written about how I never really found myself attractive until just recently (thanks therapy, healthy relationships, and Fedi). I recognized that other folx did—or at least said they did, but—with my lifelong history of abuse—I didn't see it. I think it took, at least in part, having a healthy, loving, asexual partner for me to start liking myself in new ways. And, as she said after I told her about the dream this morning, "if I'm using you for your body, I'm doing a really bad job of it"

So what was the dream? It was a pretty basic theater anxiety dream.

I was in a play (playing the male lead, I think), and I'd spent the morning doing my costume and makeup for the part. Someone ran by and let me know I was on in 7 minutes. It was then I realized no one had given me a script, and I didn't know anything about my lines or the play. A perfectly reasonable panic attack ensued, and then I woke up.

Now, I don't usually read into dreams; dreams are my brain's equivalent of DOS6 running defrag. But this one was pretty on the nose.

I had spent all my time trying to look the role, and had completely failed to do the part that matters...and now it was too late—I was the pretty one with no substance.

#Beauty #Dreams #Therapy #MentalHealth #Anxiety #Abuse

Vulnerability time again.

So, in the bucket of "semi-innocuous things that can fuck you up for life", I cried this morning after waking from a stupid anxiety dream.

Why? Well strap in...

All my life people have told me I'm attractive (boo-hoo, right?). Which also means, all my life I've had people tell me I'm vain, or shallow, or that I'm using my looks manipulatively. People have also informed me that looks don't last, and that I'd "better have a plan B"¹ for when they inevitably fade.

¹ not that kind of plan B

And, with brains being the lovely little pattern-seeking machines they are, mine condensed this down to "People like/hate you for your looks. If you're not pretty enough, you're worthless; if you're too pretty you're a bad person".

I've written before about my ex-spouse who told me, in a crowded cafe, "people only listen to you because you're fuckable" (this was in response to telling them that two psychologists had favorably reviewed my paper on autism self-diagnostic criteria)

I've also written about how I never really found myself attractive until just recently (thanks therapy, healthy relationships, and Fedi). I recognized that other folx did—or at least said they did, but—with my lifelong history of abuse—I didn't see it. I think it took, at least in part, having a healthy, loving, asexual partner for me to start liking myself in new ways. And, as she said after I told her about the dream this morning, "if I'm using you for your body, I'm doing a really bad job of it"

So what was the dream? It was a pretty basic theater anxiety dream.

I was in a play (playing the male lead, I think), and I'd spent the morning doing my costume and makeup for the part. Someone ran by and let me know I was on in 7 minutes. It was then I realized no one had given me a script, and I didn't know anything about my lines or the play. A perfectly reasonable panic attack ensued, and then I woke up.

Now, I don't usually read into dreams; dreams are my brain's equivalent of DOS6 running defrag. But this one was pretty on the nose.

I had spent all my time trying to look the role, and had completely failed to do the part that matters...and now it was too late—I was the pretty one with no substance.

#Beauty #Dreams #Therapy #MentalHealth #Anxiety #Abuse

@EVDHmn aww thank you

@Aprazeth you're really sweet, thank you so much for everything

Vulnerability time again.

So, in the bucket of "semi-innocuous things that can fuck you up for life", I cried this morning after waking from a stupid anxiety dream.

Why? Well strap in...

All my life people have told me I'm attractive (boo-hoo, right?). Which also means, all my life I've had people tell me I'm vain, or shallow, or that I'm using my looks manipulatively. People have also informed me that looks don't last, and that I'd "better have a plan B"¹ for when they inevitably fade.

¹ not that kind of plan B

And, with brains being the lovely little pattern-seeking machines they are, mine condensed this down to "People like/hate you for your looks. If you're not pretty enough, you're worthless; if you're too pretty you're a bad person".

I've written before about my ex-spouse who told me, in a crowded cafe, "people only listen to you because you're fuckable" (this was in response to telling them that two psychologists had favorably reviewed my paper on autism self-diagnostic criteria)

I've also written about how I never really found myself attractive until just recently (thanks therapy, healthy relationships, and Fedi). I recognized that other folx did—or at least said they did, but—with my lifelong history of abuse—I didn't see it. I think it took, at least in part, having a healthy, loving, asexual partner for me to start liking myself in new ways. And, as she said after I told her about the dream this morning, "if I'm using you for your body, I'm doing a really bad job of it"

So what was the dream? It was a pretty basic theater anxiety dream.

I was in a play (playing the male lead, I think), and I'd spent the morning doing my costume and makeup for the part. Someone ran by and let me know I was on in 7 minutes. It was then I realized no one had given me a script, and I didn't know anything about my lines or the play. A perfectly reasonable panic attack ensued, and then I woke up.

Now, I don't usually read into dreams; dreams are my brain's equivalent of DOS6 running defrag. But this one was pretty on the nose.

I had spent all my time trying to look the role, and had completely failed to do the part that matters...and now it was too late—I was the pretty one with no substance.

#Beauty #Dreams #Therapy #MentalHealth #Anxiety #Abuse

Vulnerability time again.

So, in the bucket of "semi-innocuous things that can fuck you up for life", I cried this morning after waking from a stupid anxiety dream.

Why? Well strap in...

All my life people have told me I'm attractive (boo-hoo, right?). Which also means, all my life I've had people tell me I'm vain, or shallow, or that I'm using my looks manipulatively. People have also informed me that looks don't last, and that I'd "better have a plan B"¹ for when they inevitably fade.

¹ not that kind of plan B

And, with brains being the lovely little pattern-seeking machines they are, mine condensed this down to "People like/hate you for your looks. If you're not pretty enough, you're worthless; if you're too pretty you're a bad person".

I've written before about my ex-spouse who told me, in a crowded cafe, "people only listen to you because you're fuckable" (this was in response to telling them that two psychologists had favorably reviewed my paper on autism self-diagnostic criteria)

I've also written about how I never really found myself attractive until just recently (thanks therapy, healthy relationships, and Fedi). I recognized that other folx did—or at least said they did, but—with my lifelong history of abuse—I didn't see it. I think it took, at least in part, having a healthy, loving, asexual partner for me to start liking myself in new ways. And, as she said after I told her about the dream this morning, "if I'm using you for your body, I'm doing a really bad job of it"

So what was the dream? It was a pretty basic theater anxiety dream.

I was in a play (playing the male lead, I think), and I'd spent the morning doing my costume and makeup for the part. Someone ran by and let me know I was on in 7 minutes. It was then I realized no one had given me a script, and I didn't know anything about my lines or the play. A perfectly reasonable panic attack ensued, and then I woke up.

Now, I don't usually read into dreams; dreams are my brain's equivalent of DOS6 running defrag. But this one was pretty on the nose.

I had spent all my time trying to look the role, and had completely failed to do the part that matters...and now it was too late—I was the pretty one with no substance.

#Beauty #Dreams #Therapy #MentalHealth #Anxiety #Abuse

Vulnerability time again.

So, in the bucket of "semi-innocuous things that can fuck you up for life", I cried this morning after waking from a stupid anxiety dream.

Why? Well strap in...

All my life people have told me I'm attractive (boo-hoo, right?). Which also means, all my life I've had people tell me I'm vain, or shallow, or that I'm using my looks manipulatively. People have also informed me that looks don't last, and that I'd "better have a plan B"¹ for when they inevitably fade.

¹ not that kind of plan B

And, with brains being the lovely little pattern-seeking machines they are, mine condensed this down to "People like/hate you for your looks. If you're not pretty enough, you're worthless; if you're too pretty you're a bad person".

I've written before about my ex-spouse who told me, in a crowded cafe, "people only listen to you because you're fuckable" (this was in response to telling them that two psychologists had favorably reviewed my paper on autism self-diagnostic criteria)

I've also written about how I never really found myself attractive until just recently (thanks therapy, healthy relationships, and Fedi). I recognized that other folx did—or at least said they did, but—with my lifelong history of abuse—I didn't see it. I think it took, at least in part, having a healthy, loving, asexual partner for me to start liking myself in new ways. And, as she said after I told her about the dream this morning, "if I'm using you for your body, I'm doing a really bad job of it"

So what was the dream? It was a pretty basic theater anxiety dream.

I was in a play (playing the male lead, I think), and I'd spent the morning doing my costume and makeup for the part. Someone ran by and let me know I was on in 7 minutes. It was then I realized no one had given me a script, and I didn't know anything about my lines or the play. A perfectly reasonable panic attack ensued, and then I woke up.

Now, I don't usually read into dreams; dreams are my brain's equivalent of DOS6 running defrag. But this one was pretty on the nose.

I had spent all my time trying to look the role, and had completely failed to do the part that matters...and now it was too late—I was the pretty one with no substance.

#Beauty #Dreams #Therapy #MentalHealth #Anxiety #Abuse

@alice My (uneducated) view on dreams is that a lot of the time they're not an indicator that something is wrong, but more of an indicator of anxiety that something is wrong. But then most of my life rn is characterized by anxiety. ymmv.

Smart people are the most attractive people, imo, and people who don't rate intelligence are the least attractive. But that's me, and I'm mostly asexual.

Vulnerability time again.

So, in the bucket of "semi-innocuous things that can fuck you up for life", I cried this morning after waking from a stupid anxiety dream.

Why? Well strap in...

All my life people have told me I'm attractive (boo-hoo, right?). Which also means, all my life I've had people tell me I'm vain, or shallow, or that I'm using my looks manipulatively. People have also informed me that looks don't last, and that I'd "better have a plan B"¹ for when they inevitably fade.

¹ not that kind of plan B

And, with brains being the lovely little pattern-seeking machines they are, mine condensed this down to "People like/hate you for your looks. If you're not pretty enough, you're worthless; if you're too pretty you're a bad person".

I've written before about my ex-spouse who told me, in a crowded cafe, "people only listen to you because you're fuckable" (this was in response to telling them that two psychologists had favorably reviewed my paper on autism self-diagnostic criteria)

I've also written about how I never really found myself attractive until just recently (thanks therapy, healthy relationships, and Fedi). I recognized that other folx did—or at least said they did, but—with my lifelong history of abuse—I didn't see it. I think it took, at least in part, having a healthy, loving, asexual partner for me to start liking myself in new ways. And, as she said after I told her about the dream this morning, "if I'm using you for your body, I'm doing a really bad job of it"

So what was the dream? It was a pretty basic theater anxiety dream.

I was in a play (playing the male lead, I think), and I'd spent the morning doing my costume and makeup for the part. Someone ran by and let me know I was on in 7 minutes. It was then I realized no one had given me a script, and I didn't know anything about my lines or the play. A perfectly reasonable panic attack ensued, and then I woke up.

Now, I don't usually read into dreams; dreams are my brain's equivalent of DOS6 running defrag. But this one was pretty on the nose.

I had spent all my time trying to look the role, and had completely failed to do the part that matters...and now it was too late—I was the pretty one with no substance.

#Beauty #Dreams #Therapy #MentalHealth #Anxiety #Abuse

@alice ugh this is why I hate being perceived. Basically up until college, I was never perceived as attractive because I’m Asian (yay, racism) and inter-racial relationships were still a big no no. Then I got to college and it flipped and made me so uncomfortable. To this day, I’m still uncomfortable being perceived but I know a lot of people think the opposite because I like clothes and shoes and girly things. During the pandemic, I realized that it’s really a body dysmorphia thing because people so strongly do not perceive me the way that I perceive myself in person but over video with video off is reasonable for me.