I'm conflicted.
The inner me seems to feel a keen sense of outrage that I've been tricked. Tricked and manipulated in very subtle and twisted ways. I've been aware of it for a rather long while, ever since dad's litany went from "let's go to the shooting range" to "help your mom in the kitchen". Big difference.
So here I am, agonizing over myself. My body shape, the size of my breasts, the size of my ass, thighs.. gah! And now at 25 I've convinced myself I'm getting wrinkles and how much mullah I've dumped into that well. So. Why is that? Why the agony? The trouble? The inner conflict and turmoil???
Ha! Now that's a question I'd like a nice, solid, black and white answer to.
The traditional approach would be to say, that naturally, I'm trying to make myself more desirable, comparable to the images that I've been subconsciously (and consciously) conditioned to accept as 'beautiful' & 'desirable', in order to attract a partner. Mm.. interesting, interesting.. Dangle the shiny lure and the fish will come. I can't deny it though. Essentially, not many of us truly want to be alone. It doesn't have to be sexual companionship, but the mammalian desire for company is instinctual. We are not only happier when we have contact with others, but healthier (as long as it's healthy relationships). Ha! It's sounds so cold and technical, but the phrase "i love hugs" just doesn't hold the same timber.
On another note, I'm not actively seeking out anyone. At this point, if something (= boy) falls in my lap, I'll be fair and take a good look at it (= boy), compare the {+} and {-} and so on and so forth. But if it (= boy) doesn't.. well, I'll keep moving forward, one step at a time. So.. essentially, while my instincts are nagging me "Boy! Find a boy! Babies! Babies are nice!", the conscious side of me really doesn't want the hassle, and so I'm stuck with two opposing points of view swimming around in my head trying to push me this way and that, and here I am actively trying to control my ''stressed therefore eat'' mechanism and it seems to be going well but for how long and why even bother if i don't care but i do care..................!! Huff. Internal conflicts are not pleasant if one can't rant.

This all, of course, is partially [+68%] instigated by a book I'm reading, "Ishtar Rising, When the Goddess Went to Hell and What to Expect Now That She's Returning" by Robert Anton Wilson. Funny ol'chap that he is, has rather successfully ignited the feminist sensibilities that have been dwelling in me, up until now, at a medium to low simmer. I've always felt offended by the stereotyped roles that men and women are 'taught' to play. Boys play with cars, girls play with dolls. Pink vs. Blue. That I'm supposed to just drop whatever I'm doing (or not doing X9 ) and vacuum the house because I'm the girl (yes, it's been said to me, more than once). I think I first realized this around when I was 14. All of a sudden, all the boy things that I'd gotten to share in with my dad and brother weren't for me, and that I belonged in the house helping my mom clean or cook or fetch items from the opposite side of the house because the males present can't be bothered to get off their derrieres...... bah. Forget that I was raised on hotwheels, toy soldiers, J.I. Joe's, mud, insects and amphibians of various kinds, worms, guns, fishing, spitting, and digging random holes in random places for no reason, really, other than to dig it as deep as possible........... I can boast a happily tomboy'ish childhood. I'm sure you can imagine the shock when things went from grime and grit too serve and please in the blink of one summer. So, for a long time, its simmered.
I've gone through various fazes; deny I'm a girl; suppress I'm a girl; grudgingly accept that physically I'm female but you can't make me be one; hate that I'm a girl but not hating other girls; slowly realizing that I'm a girl and that's not going to change just because I don't like it, so I might as well just accept that I have a vagina, but that doesn't mean I have to like my boobs; twisting the cogs a bit and realizing the value of women, but still hating having boobs; feeling a connection with my femininity (I do too have it!), but in conflict with my feelings of what 'role' I'd be expected to play as a women vs. as a man (boobs are still bad here); trying to help with as well as learn from the awareness/experience of other women in my life, as to their roles, as to their strengths - kind of an enlightenment phase, both student and guide, to nurture the elements that can strengthen a woman beyond the repression she usually puts on herself (boobs have been begrudgingly accepted, but still not my favorite part); and most recently, I'm starting to feel at peace.
My figure is slowly changing to the proportions that I prefer, with effort on my part not wishful thinking. My self esteem is at it's highest since .. well, ever. I can stand in front of a mirror, naked (gasp!), and not think "Flaw, flaw, that's a flaw, oh! flaw there too". I'm hoping this is a change that will be strengthened. I like the feeling. I like feeling strong and confident. I've taught myself to walk different, I'm working on controlling the tone of voice, back straight, head held high, stop frowning (causes wrinkles). All these seemingly stupid, insignificant things, that after all is said and done, do help to form an impression on others. The presence in the room that you can't deny, simply because of the vibes he/she give off. What a strange goal to have. "I wish to have presence." "I wish to be confident in my career/vocation, not only the actions that result in creation, but in presenting the creation and attracting the attention of others to my vision." I have this image in my mind, and it seems that during this new stage of self development, I actually have a shot at becoming someone I can admire. All these things, these new sprouts, growing around me, within me, I consciously seek out and think of myself and the role I wish to play in this world, through this life, as well as how to incorporate those I care for, to share these changes with them, to inspire them.. I have regrets, of course, but what has already happened has happened. Why lament the mistakes that have possibly encouraged growth? Why cry about a past that cannot be altered and instead miss the present and future because you're constantly looking over your shoulder instead of looking ahead? I see so many people unable to let go of 'what was'. They are tied down, as the present speeds past, as the future whips by, they don't move. Afraid, or stubborn, or even unable to (it takes a great deal of free will to break through your comfort zone and challenge yourself & your surroundings), they open their eyes once in a while only to realize how many years have gone by and what they haven't done with their lives, yet again, reflecting upon what 'has been' instead of thinking and doing 'what could be'.
All this spark!spark! due to a book. Egad, and here I stopped reading because my brain started to work too much when I did. Gah! Brain! My confusion stems from the realization of all this en masse. How much I've changed, how much the world has changed around me, how much those I've known for a while now have changed.. it seems turbulent at the time, but in retrospect, there's a certain fluidity when reflecting upon it all.

*deep breath* So the conflict?
The conflict is, really, that I've been stubborn for so long on the subject of my own sex vs. gender, that now that I'm coming to terms with most of it, I'm a bit out of sorts. That is how I was, this is how I am. What a hike from one side of the Grand Canyon to the other that was. Society told me I should be pretty and like boys, and somewhere along the line I decided "fuck pretty" but that turned into me liking pretty boys..... weird. I can't deny I was influenced greatly by my sexist father and domestic mother, but I can't say that it's how our cultural godfather's intended. I may be a submissive sort, I may tend to avoid conflict almost piously, but push me into a corner and I will break free (probably in the middle of the night when no one will notice and I won't have to deal with trackers until morning). I can't look injustice in the face, smile, and swallow and repeat. Nope.
So, was I tricked into being who I am? Or did I realize, subconsciously, that what I was supposed to be, didn't fit with my ideas of self, and so I strove to become something else?? How those circumstances that have the greatest influenct in my life and warped me in various ways and only now am I realizing to what extent and trying to straighten out what was twisted? .. It's all a little daunting..... Psychoanalysis is............. daunting..

On a lighter note, the timing of this catharsis of mine may or may not have something to do with the fact that I'm finally looming on the horizon of having an A cup instead of a B. Yup. Folks. It all comes down the boobs with me. All my closest dears know I have a fixation. A mammery fixation. Where I really (for the longest time) couldn't stand to look at my own, but hell if I looked away from anyone elses. (nudge nudge, wink wink). And I never felt ashamed of it either! I have a somewhat odd fixation on 'round/curvy' objects, and, well, they really don't get 'rounder' or 'curvier' than those two proud bumbs on the chest. What an alluring shape, what a tempting bosom. Ha! And now, here it is, I can finally say it (as I've come to term with my love for chocolate, so too I've come to terms with this..) "I love breasts - boobs - tits - jugs - melons - knockers - funbags - mammories - cup cakes - blinkers - floppers - ninnies - pink chewies, etc.etc.etc." I can even admit that I don't mind my own so much anymore. ('A' cup! Squee!) *cough* The part that relates to the book, well, it's mostly a kind of psychological/literary/cultural study on the history/significance of the breast. Of all things.. I'm compelled now. Heck! Last night I was watching "Trading Places" (1983) and I distinctly remember not seeing Jamie Lee Curtis's boobs on display. Lol, prude prude Americans. Why not show something like that instead of all the blood and guts.
A quote if you will:

"Most men, after all, are on their best behavior when under the spell of that double catenary curve; they stare or feed of caress and are as cozy as puppies - one cannot imagine them a threat to the earth, the animals or other men. But once they leave this central sacrament of existence and begin thinking about how the universe (or other people) might be improved, they are apt to go a bit wild and start brandishing clubs or cannons or hydrogen bombs. Nobody knows why the rest of us put them in government mansions instead of mental hospitals when they get stirred up that way, but they would certainly be better off contemplating Helen's [as in Troy] breasts (or Sophia's or Marge's or Jayne's or Molly's). Earth would not resemble hell quite so much if men attended to such earthly matters more and were not up in the air over ideologies." pg.2. [Italics mine]

I love it.
I love this book, the concepts/ideas that Wilson brings up. I can see it easily ruffling the feathers of those with more guiarded sensibilities, but that's part of the challenge then. Freud's oral and anal personality theories, ! [--thought process interupption--]

!!
!!!!!!! I just realized something. .. om'gosh ......................... om'mah'gosh
Breast fixation.
I hated breasts. I don't like sex (still climbing that mountain). 25 years of repressed feelings, being an oral personality that shouldn't be the case, on the subject, something that I didn't connect until, oh, about 10 to 7 years too late. Per Freud's theories, per the stages of development he outlined [oral, anal, phallic and genital], it would seem that I'd experienced a trauma during the 'oral' and 'genital' stages of my development. My mother always told me that I hated being breast fed. I'd stir up such a fuss when she'd try and feed me via breast. I was a bottle baby. Still mamma's milk, but from a bottle. Though the bottle be a nipple substitute, there was apparently something that I didn't like about being fed straight from the source. HOW could I have NOT connected the dots.. And secondly, sex. There was a time that I seriously thought that if I ever had sex, I'd go crazy. I was not sexually abused or traumatised. I'd read my mom's romance novels (the good parts anyway) and when a little older, curiosity led me to porn. Nothing from those experiences turned spiral and became negative. However, I do recall the utter and complete mortification, humiliation, and feelings of catastrophe when I stepped over the line once and for all and became *dah'duum* "a woman" (= got my period). No more denying could be done at that point. It was final. I was a girl. Done. Finished. Executed and buried. Pink.

O_____O I need to recover. I doubt anyone read through this whole thing, and if you did, I can't thank you enough.. I'm experiencing a simultaneous flood of pride and humiliation at my revelation..
I'll leave off with a quote from the book and a quote from my tea label for now.
I'd really love some feedback. Nothin' like spillin' yer guts and then havin' someone tell ya yer full of bullock (with something to support it of course).

"...it seems that the starry cosmos, in those days, was conceived as a great mother who had given birth to the life of the earth. Wise old women (the wiccas, wise ones, from whom we get the word witches) were thought to have a special affinity with her [the moon goddess]. Above all, this goddess was not a metaphor of an idea; she was a living presence, just as the American Indians to this day refer to the earth as living mother ... Quite similarly, the early Romans conceived the thickest band of stars in the sky as the Via Galactica, the Way of Milk, from which we get our familiar expression the Milky Way." pg.74

"Wisdom, character, and consciousness conquer all." My Yogi tea of the day fortune. How fitting.

{{disclaimer: I can't speak on behalf of anyone but myself. My observations are prescribed through personal experience, opinion and observation. I welcome constructive dialog. Opinion's may differ, but when shared, awareness grows. I ain't no shrink, and I ain't tellin' ya how ta live yer life or what's wrong with it. To each his own. <3}}