Feeling uncomfortable in pretty clothes is not okay

So my school is getting ready for Spring Cotillion coming up this Saturday. My friends and I have planned this for weeks, making plans to get all pretty and primp ourselves to the max. I found my dress a while ago, but not with the intention of wearing it to Cotillion. I'd gotten it partly because it was pretty and sparkly and fit me better than I expected and partly because I was halfway pressured into getting it (not that I minded. At all).

But as the day draws closer, I started to have second thoughts about what dress I was going to wear. I mean, sure, I can easily wear the gorgeous sparkly number that hasn't had a chance to shine in public yet, but by no means did I have to. I'd gotten a different dress last year for Cotillion but didn't get a chance to wear it for more than thirty minutes on account of having to accompany my friend to a strange town to pick up a boy. I wanted to wear that this year. I mean, hairwise it would give me more options (in my opinion). But when I brought up the possibility of me switching up dresses to my roommate, she acted like that was a horrible decision.

She'd gotten a bright coral dress recently. It's beautiful and I can't say that I'm not at least a little bit jealous. The reason she didn't want me to switch to the dress from last year is because she wanted to match with me. I didn't care about matching or not. If I matched, great. If not, no big deal. But apparently it was a big deal to her. She essentially begged and whined about me not wearing the dress I'd originally planning as if I was making a wrong choice and that I was being selfish for not matching dress looks with her.

Let me get one thing straight. I adore the original dress. I do. But it also makes me feel just a little self conscious because it points out that I have a tummy. It also shows off my arm completely, and my arm's not exactly what I would call my best feature. So I feel a little self-conscious in that dress. And knowing that there will be photos taken in abundance, I don't want to pose for pictures worrying that I look fat or bulgy or whatever. I want to feel comfortable and pretty. I have a right to want that. Every human being does.

I might decide what I'm wearing and what my hair will be like on the day of. Who knows? But whichever dress I choose, it will be my choice. After all, it's my body and I should feel comfortable in it, since no one else will ever know what it will feel like to actually be in my shoes.

Emotional abuse is not a joke

Emotional abuse. That's a pretty heavy subject, wouldn't you agree? But it's a subject that's horribly underestimated.

When people hear the term emotional abuse, they instantly put it in the context of romantic relationships, like an emotionally abusive boyfriend or girlfriend who manipulates your emotions in order to get what they want from you. While this happens far too often for comfort, that's not the only application of emotional abuse. Friends can be emotionally abusive, too, but sometimes they're the harder ones to spot.

I'm in an emotionally abusive relationship.

I'm not talking about the relationship with my boyfriend. We've been together for four years and he is very emotionally supportive. Otherwise his ass would have been kicked to the curb four years ago. The relationship that I'm talking about is the one with my roommate.

It's a pretty parasitic relationship. I'm the host and she's the parasite. I can't say anything without it being turned against me. I can't have an opinion without having it deemed wrong. I can't have a bad day without hearing that hers has been worse. No matter what, I am always inferior to her in her eyes. And I kept accepting that fact because I kept convincing myself that I'm just over reacting and it's not as bad as I'm making it out to be. But the more time I spend with her, the more I realize that I've been lying and deceiving myself this whole time. I have put my mind and body through the emotionally draining experience of dealing with this person who seems to be unable to take my opinions and feelings into consideration for so long. My mind doesn't deserve that. My self-confidence doesn't deserve that. My body doesn't deserve that. I don't deserve that.

So here's a letter to my poor body and mind who have suffered because I mercilessly tortured it by allowing them to be abused by my roommate:

Dear mind/body/spirit:

I am sorry. I am sorry for putting you through suffering that no human being should go through. I am sorry for not taking care of you like I should have, like you deserve. I am sorry I didn't listen to you when the first warning signs of an emotionally manipulative relationship appeared. I am sorry I brushed your advice off when you were in pain and needed me to listen. 

I wish I could do something to make it up to you, but I understand that it's too late. I have dug you and me both into a hole so deep that there's no hope of crawling out. But if you will forgive me and help me, I'm willing to try. It's going to be difficult, but not impossible. I'll get dirt under my nails and reek of body odor mixed with earth, but in the end, we'll be out of the hole and out of this relationship. I'll just need some time -- a lot of it. I hope you'll understand. 

Dear mind, body, and spirit, I promise to make a conscious effort to take care of you and listen to you more often. I know you're broken right now, and you're heading to a place where it's going to be hard to get you back, and I know I deserve it because I haven't been kind to you. But please, just this once, listen to me: don't go there. It's a dark place and you've been there and it's scary. Once you go there, I don't know if I can get you back, and I need you. I need you because you have been so kind to me and I know you have had to put up with so much recently, but I have one request: give yourself time to heal. I'm going to try my best to give you time and energy to heal. I'm on your side; we're on the same team. 

Since you've been going through this terrible time, I've realized that I have been too generous. They say too much of a good thing is bad, and this is especially true with generosity. I'm going to try to be a little more selfish; I'm going to try to make some time for myself and not give it to anyone but me and you. I want to promise that I will definitely do it, but I can't because it's hard, but please don't be mad at me. I promise I'll try. I promise to bring as much positive energy and light to you as I can, but forgive me when I fail. I'm not hurting you on purpose; I'm just trying to help. Bear with me as I embark on this frighteningly new journey. 

Dear mind, body, and spirit, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what I have put you through. But I also thank you for taking in so much without complaint. I will try my very best to make it up to you. 

Much love, 

V. 

Emotional abuse is not a joke. I should have seen the signs coming sooner. I should have gotten out of the relationship while I still could. But it's not too late; it's never too late.

The 21st birthday dream

You know what I want for my 21st birthday? To be in London.

I want a fabulous, unforgettable, photo-stuffed 21st birthday, and I want it to happen in London, which just so happens to be one of the things on my bucket list just waiting to be crossed off. The going to London part, that is. Not necessarily having my 21st birthday there. Not that I would object to having a London 21st birthday celebration.

I know I sound like a spoiled little diva when I say that. I know it's just another birthday, and that 21 is just another year older, another year closer to visible wrinkles (as if they haven't started showing up already!), but the fact of the matter is that I still want it. My family's not big into cliched "big birthday" celebrations. We're not big on the whole "You're turning sixteen so let's throw a huge party!" We don't do the "You're eighteen! Woo! You're legal! Let's go out and celebrate that fact!" In fact, we honestly don't do the "You're 21 and a real adult! Let's celebrate that adulthood with some drinks at the bar!" either. But nobody said I have to have a plain ordinary birthday either.

So ideally, I'd be spending my birthday with my friends, probably at the same Thai restaurant we always end up going to whenever someone's birthday came around. Maybe my boyfriend would be there, too, and it'd be low-key and great. Then maybe at the end of the night, I might be bold enough to buy my first bottle of wine because I'm finally legal enough to do so, and my boyfriend and I would have a glass of wine and then either fall right asleep or compile video evidence of my alcohol-influenced self, depending on the results of the wine. But as much as I would miss having my friends there to celebrate with me, I can always Facebook and Skype them. Social media and the media are wonderful things. Wouldn't it be grand to say that the year I became legal was the year I was touristing the crap out of the most touristy city in the most touristy country? I say it would.

So here's to hoping. Here's to crossing my fingers so hard and so often that I no longer have feeling in them. Here's to pinning every post about studying abroad on Pinterest. Here's to looking up Google images of how beautifully breathtaking London is at night and in the day.

Here's to receiving the acceptance letter soon.