I’ve been meaning to write this for a while, but I think I needed to sit with everything first. The last few months have felt like a convergence point — turning 50, losing a significant amount of weight, revisiting my dream journal more intentionally, and making some decisions about my body that I probably wouldn’t have even considered a few years ago.
This isn’t a neat story. It’s messy, personal, and in some ways uncomfortable. But that’s also the point.
Turning 50: A Mirror You Can’t Avoid
Turning 50 hit me harder than I expected. Not in a dramatic “midlife crisis” way, but in a quieter, more confronting sense of time. There’s something about that number that strips away the illusion that there’s always more time to sort things out later.
- Later to feel comfortable in my body.
- Later to process the past.
- Later to stop hiding from things I don’t like about myself.
Fifty didn’t feel like an ending — but it did feel like a checkpoint. A moment where I either continue living slightly detached from myself, or start making changes deliberately.
I realised how much of my life I’ve spent surviving rather than inhabiting my own body. That isn’t surprising given my history — the grooming, the rape, the complicated relationship with intimacy and control. Those experiences didn’t just affect my mind; they shaped how I feel about my body itself. It’s often felt like something I live in, rather than something that is actually mine.
Turning 50 made me want to reclaim some of that.
The Weight Loss — And The Unexpected Fallout
Over the last year, I’ve lost a significant amount of weight. Objectively, it’s a positive change. Health markers are better. I move more easily. Clothes fit differently. On paper, it’s all “success.”
But emotionally, it’s been complicated.
No one really talks about the psychological side of weight loss when you’re older. The body doesn’t just “snap back.” There’s loose skin, cellulite, shape changes. My stomach doesn’t look like I imagined it would. In some ways, I feel more exposed than before — like the padding that hid everything is gone, and now I’m left confronting what’s underneath.
There are moments where I look in the mirror and feel genuinely repulsed. That’s hard to admit, but it’s real.
And yet… there’s also a strange sense of progress. This body, imperfect as it is, feels more honest. It reflects change. Effort. Movement. Survival.
I’m trying to learn to see it that way.
My Dreams: The Mind Still Processing
I’ve continued journaling my dreams, and they’ve remained intense, layered, and often unsettling. Themes of invasion, distorted spaces, and being attacked or pursued still appear. The “other presence,” the warping rooms, the sense of fighting something that keeps returning — all of that continues to echo.
Given my history, that probably isn’t surprising.
The dreams often feel like my mind replaying a core tension: something trying to take control, and me resisting. Sometimes I win. Sometimes I just hold it back. Sometimes it keeps returning no matter what I do.
But there has been a subtle shift recently.
In newer dreams, I’m less passive. I fight back more directly. I push. I use force. I hold boundaries. Even when I’m scared, I don’t freeze as often. That feels significant — like something inside me is changing, slowly reclaiming space.
It mirrors what’s happening in waking life.
Taking Control of My Body — Literally
Which brings me to something I know some people will find surprising: I’ve decided to go ahead with penis filler enhancement.
This isn’t about chasing porn-star aesthetics. It’s not about impressing anyone else. It’s actually tied deeply to control, ownership, and how I feel inhabiting my body.
My relationship with my sexuality has always been complicated. Being asexual but still sometimes enjoying sex. Feeling desire but also repulsion. Wanting closeness but needing distance. Carrying shame that doesn’t always make logical sense.
For me, this decision is less about sex and more about reclaiming something physical that has always felt psychologically loaded.
It’s a deliberate act of body autonomy:
“I choose this. I change this. This is mine.”
There’s also honesty in admitting that I want to feel better about myself physically. That matters. At 50, I don’t want to pretend those things don’t exist.
Putting It All Together
When I step back, these things aren’t separate:
- Turning 50
- Losing weight
- Feeling conflicted about my body
- Dreaming about invasion and resistance
- Making changes to my physical self
They’re all part of the same process: reclaiming ownership.
For a long time, my body has carried history — trauma, shame, avoidance, disconnection. Now I’m slowly, imperfectly, trying to rewrite that relationship.
Not by becoming perfect.
Not by erasing the past.
But by making conscious choices.
Some of those choices will seem unusual. Some might seem cosmetic. Some might seem deeply psychological.
They’re all real!
That could be the biggest shift: I’m no longer trying to separate the physical and emotional parts of myself. They’re intertwined. Always have been.
Turning 50 didn’t fix anything. But it did remove my ability to pretend I had endless time to deal with this later.
So this is me, dealing with it now.
ᗷIOᑎIᑕᗷEᗩᖇᑌK 