I’ve been waiting for summer for a very long time but, now it’s here, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.
On a head level, I’ve been longing for summer. For a sky that’s so blue it hurts your eyes and takes you back to the summers of childhood. For the tingle of sun on my skin, chasing away the bone-chilling cold. For the smell of fresh mornings and the still heat of hot evenings. Everything about it really, but mostly the light. The fact that everything stops being grey. Living is just easier.
On a body level I hate everything about summer. I didn’t think it was possible, but I’m even more aware of the body. It could be the lack of layers making me feel more exposed. Or the slightly too hot and swollen feeling that seems pretty constant.
I’m definitely massively more self conscious in lighter clothing Self conscious, too, about wearing cover-all layers when it seems as though everyone else is wearing practically nothing. I envy people who look comfortable in summer clothes.
This year I’m finding it so much harder because I’m at a higher weight. Not quite the weight I was when I left hospital – but a higher weight. As I move in thinner clothes they catch on this unwanted extra-ness. I fill clothes that last year were flapping. It’s a miserable feeling, constantly gnawing away at me like toothache.
And the scars don’t help. Now they cover my forearms there’s so much I can’t wear in the heat. All my careful three-quarter sleeve tops just aren’t careful enough. I’m practicing with the camouflage cream, but have only tried it out in public once, and spent the whole day with my heart in my mouth. I need to keep trying, but I don’t have the courage right now.
So I’m spending this glorious weather as though I’m trapped in a beaten-up fat suit. Fun times.