Day 224

I recently discovered the TV show Supernatural.

Now, I haven’t been living under a rock for the past ten years. I knew it existed. I just had no particular desire to check it out. At some point I’d caught a bit of the first season and decided that it was another monster-of-the-week that I could do without. My copious forays into the fan fic of various fandoms frequently brought up Supernatural stories written by authors that I knew were no slouches, but the vague interest never really coalesced.

Then it happened. That day is fogged by the distance of time, but as memory serves, my beloved husband remarked on the way into the kitchen, “Hey, I had Supernatural playing while I was re-tiling the backsplash. It was actually pretty good.”

Quick as a bunny, I hopped onto Wikipedia to get the down-low. My nose twitched over some of the world-building but even through the veil of text and grumbling over the fact that they were GETTING IT WRONG I knew which character was going to hold my attention should I start watching.

I mean… a Constantine-Look-A-Like Angel Sidekick? Please. Does anything else need to be said?

Roughly 4 weeks, 2 complete seasons, 40 fan fiction stories and easily 30 episodes picked around for interest later – I was flying high on the glory of a new fandom to immerse myself in.

Now, the last year has been a rough one for our household. Some dreams have been lost. We’ve been fighting tooth and nail to make others happen. As a result, I’ve been actively looking for things to provide a little extra …happiness... for me and my husband.

So with the sad memory of having to miss the well-anticipated Star Trek convention fresh in my mind, I started poking around for Supernatural conventions.

Ah, the ecstasy of finding that there was a whole run of them going on, and one not even three hours away from us!

Ah, the agony of realizing it was already sold out.

Ah, the renewed joy of finding a Facebook group where extra tickets were being sold off!

Being a rational, even-keeled woman, I put my name on the list for the next available tickets and waited to see what would happen. God would be the advocate of whether this expense (mitigated to a day-trip though it w as) would be a good idea in the middle of our finance challenges.

If it went through, lovely. If not? Not meant to be.

In the meantime, however, it couldn’t hurt anyone if I looked through Ebay for certain Cosplay components….

As luck would have it, tickets became available. I chortled as I messaged back the seller on Facebook and promised payment by the end of the day. Then I casually checked the calendar for other events I might have going. A year ago, one could have found a stretch 13 months long with nothing planned for my husband or I. But luck recently reconnected us with some friends, and through them we’ve met other friends, and now I knew there were at least two childrens’ birthdays on the horizon.

One of which, as cruel fate would have it, lay right on the day of the convention.

Adorable three year old who has dragged my husband off in a death grip and held him in the thralls of play for hours at a time….much to the amusement of myself and the girl’s parents…

Or a crowd of people, hyper, creative, and thrilled to be a part of something bigger.

Friends who have been supporting me through the bad news of learning I’d never have a child of my own, provided written references to the adoption agency to tell them I’d be a good mom…

Or getting an autograph from an actor who seems to be some much fun that you just ache to be a part of the creativity and excitement he’s putting off.

…Such great fun.

The contest wasn’t a hard one. And, I don’t think it’s any great credit to me that I decided to forgo the convention to spend time with friends who care about me.

However, it’s not the choice that brought me back to contemplative lip chewing days later. It’s what went through my head when I realized that there was a conflict and that my one opportunity to go to this convention was just not going to happen. 

The thought was: “Ah well. I’m such a fat idiot, it’s probably for the best anyway.”

It was for the best because I am certain that I, even if I got all the tickets and opportunities I wanted, would be on the verge of tears walking into that convention hall.

Because every brilliant Cosplayer would make me ache because I was never going to get to shine like that, have fun like that.

Even I know there is nothing admirable about a sausage in a trench coat.

Every second of a posed photo op with Misha, Jared or Jensen, would have my  heart curled into a tight ball inside my chest, hyperaware and shaking.

Because even if they were the nicest, sweetest, guys in the universe, someone who looked like me, who was shy like me, could only come across as a fat, non-verbal Becky Rosen to them  in  the maximum of 60 seconds of time I’m sure we’d interact.

Poor guys. This fatty is paying money. Act like you want to have something to do with her so we can snap the picture.

How messed up is that??!! 

My self-worth… isn’t derived from the opinion of strangers, even cool ones. It really isn’t.

But it certainly isn’t in that good a shape to take that sort of hit – even if it’s only imagined.

Now, being a reasonable woman, I am very much aware that this isn’t the healthiest mindset. To worry about how you are perceived by others is natural. To be in tears over it, probably needs to get fixed up.

And bloody well better be fixed up before you are raising a child.

Though, it’s not like I don’t know I have strengths. I do. It’s not like there aren’t things I like very much about myself. There are.

But, unfortunately, when it comes to my own jaded view, sometimes I have a hard time seeing those traits through the massive layer of fat that seems to be blocking my view.

I am not who I want to be. In a hundred little ways, some physical, many many more emotional and intellectual.

But… the physical one hits hardest because it’s what the outside world sees and judges me on. I’ve read enough comments sections to know that. And, if I can just feel comfortable in my own skin, perhaps all the other things I want to be will be easier to grab a hold of.

So, I decided to embark on what I’m now dubbing the Meeting Misha Collins journey extravaganza. For the next 224 days I will document the oh-so-horribly exciting journey of one Jaime towards the theoretical attendance of the last “Creation Entertainment’s Salute to Supernatural Convention “ in Nevada.

Can she lose 48lb before March 12^th so that she can strut her stuff in Cosplay, shamelessly squee over the boys (especially Misha Collins), and otherwise say “YES, I have a groove, baby. My sexy phone voice totally matches my hospital slipper wearing feet!”

 Notice I’m saying “could” and not “will”. Yes, darlings, I’m afraid that this is an entirely hypothetical event as I live way too far from Nevada and adoption is way too expensive to allow for this to be in the budget.

But, even if I can’t attend, at least I’ll know that I could have.

And I wouldn’t have been miserable while doing so.

So, there you have it.

Game on!