Despite recently going to Longhorn steakhouse and having an amazing burger with garlic fries, to celebrate a certain someone's birthday, I found myself relating to the symbolism of said creature (The Longhorn).
Lately I've found myself in situations that bring out the crazy and test me in so many ways that I at times become overwhelmed by it; somehow I've preservered. I've been beyond sick and in pain; I'd find myself crawling (literally) and clawing my way through because I whole-heartedly refuse(d) to give into this chronic illness. I am a ram by birth, but I also lie dangerously close to the bull (by birth as well of course); all those phenomenal traits have pretty much rubbed off/ made its way into my bloodstream. I've had to exude so much more strength than usual lately and I've gained so much wisdom. I am faced with my continual transformation every single day, had to evaluate and re-evaluate myself and my shortcomings so regularly that even though I'm going through such an obscene amount of BS......really it's just more of the same (no matter how shitty it gets). And despite how much "the same" all of the trials and tribulations are in nature.....somehow I become a new person every single day.
On the day I wore this outfit I wasn't actually planning on going anywhere, I had woken up screaming in pain yet again (which is like I said...more of the same, these days especially). I spent the entire morning in a ball of uncontrollable pain and as the clock ticked I found all the shame, guilt, and failure sinking in. I made plans and promises, yet again, that I couldn't keep. It was supposed to be a special day for a special someone and I was going to have to cancel.
That special someone has seen me go through relapse after relapse, for years, and for some reason it hit em' harder than it has in a long time. The tone of the day was set and we were officially not going anywhere, that was apparent through the tear soaked pillow that provided support for my throbbing skull but no comfort.
It took hours for me to stop rocking from side to side, for me to stop waling in pain, and once I had, I tried my luck at finally standing so that I could go to the bathroom. I've said it once and I'll say it again, you don't know what you've had until you've lost it. To be able to do something as small as going to the bathroom when you need to without your body turning into a tuning fork upon each step and making your eyes feel like they're about to pop out of their sockets......? People rarely understand the gravity of how effortlessly able bodied they are.
I made it to the living-room, needing a break with each step, but I made it. I sat down in front of this "coffee table" that I hate with a passion because it's small but somehow heavy as shit and when you're feeling as trash as I was feeling, a "coffee table" like the one I was faced with will have you questioning whether you want to chance an aneurysm by getting up and stomping it out. Can you tell I hate this table? So I sat in front of it reached below to the shelf underneath it, and I wrapped my hands around my only savior these days, my pain killers.
I took my pills and threw myself back, hoped and prayed for a speedy dissolve, and waited patiently for my level 15 outta 10 pain (on a 1-10 pain-scale) to go down to at least a 7. Once it did, I was ready to push myself to take back the day, I was in full-fledged #ReclaimingMyTime mode. I refused to let this illness take yet another day from me (I mean we could definitely revisit the seventh layer of hell tomorrow, but on this day I wasn't having it), unfortunately my special someone wasn't feeling it anymore (I guess all the tears, screaming, and snot bubbles sucked the fun out of the day...which is understandable).
But, with every moment that my pain level decreased, the more I not only wanted to go out....I NEEDED it. I needed to feel like I wasn't weak, like I wasn't a failure, like I successfully RECLAIMED MY TIME! It took a bit to convince 'em that we could do this, but I finally did, and after three hours of getting ready (cuz a bish has to go slow as not to aggravate the headache Gods), I was ready to go and felt the sensation of accomplishment surging through my veins.
I chose this look because it's super comfy despite your preconceived ideas about the relation of denim and comfort. These jeans were nice and stretchy and had a modest moto feature that spoke to me on many levels. I put on a simple white T-shirt, that honestly is one of the most deliciously soft and flattering white T's I've ever worn, and I threw on this super fabulous bomber jacket in a superb mustardo color. This outfit to me said, "I may be falling apart on the inside....but a bitch is pushin' through and looking snatched while doing it." And let's be clear, it is NOT mandatory to present well, as a femme or otherwise, or as whatever standard society projects onto you; you owe nothing to no one but yourself....and YOU decide what that looks and feels like. For me? I sometimes use aesthetic to cover up the depths of my despair as a "fake it till you make it" type shit. At times I have my issues with that mindset as well but it doesn't stop me from using it to my benefit sometimes. If I could just pamper myself and look good (to my standards of course), it helps ME feel a bit better overall. It's unfortunate that I can't always indulge in the act of getting ready nearly as much I as I used to.
Lastly, I threw on one of my favorito shades to cover my eyes and any tells they may give off on how I was really feeling, and my handy dandy winky kicks, because sparkle.