Originally posted Saturday, June 17, 2006

I haven’t written a blog entry in a long time.
Doesn’t feel like there’s much in my head worth sharing.
I’ve always looked at other women in order to figure out who I was. All the different categories and stereotypes. I feel like a little bit of everything. I see girls and analyze what they’re doing that seems so effortless- the way camisoles are layered, the easy way of walking. It’s in the details. And then I try to make those details mine.
I never feel effortless because of the effort it takes.
I don’t do that quite as much any more, but the habit is with me still. There are certain people you notice. I feel like cobbled-together bits of those noticeable people, not quite making a whole. Not quite making a statement. Not quite.
I know the missing spark is who I am, really. But how to get in touch with that spark? I don’t know what to be, apart from all those cobbled-together pieces. Or maybe everyone feels like that, like tidbits of everyone else. I am not familiar with the feeling of dressing like me.
I do feel somewhat like me, just not the whole way. I think I’m too much to express in denim and cloth and stitches and socks. I don’t think it’s possible to accessorize my thoughts and all the bitten-back swallowed words and the love-and-hate.
I feel most like myself when I’m naked.
I tend to think too much about things like this. Things like what your clothing says about you. Things like taking what you wear very seriously. Things like image. Things like wanting to be noticed. Things like wanting to be accepted. I’ve never felt accepted.
I’ve never felt like a part of anything, not really.
I’ve always felt the need to prove myself to the world, to other women. To my friends. To myself.
It’s all related. Dressing a certain way to prove to myself that I am original, unique, interesting. And all the related insecurities, the endless flowing maze of them.