transretrogurl

So, I had a weird Christmas and New Year. Christmas was its usual mix of way too much food, way too much drink and the Festive season’s heaping of commercial stress, which the happy pills really helped with. But come Boxing Day I crashed for absolutely no reason; been reading up about SAD and yup, it seems as I get older I get SADder.

For those who don’t know what SAD is, it’s actually a recognised version of depression but seasonal; most people who have it get it in the Winter months, and it’s thought (because, to be honest, Doctors have little to no clue why it happens) that the lack of exposure to sunlight causes the brain to generate less endorphins, or something along that line. As with everything in life, it’s down to the old chemical soup in the noggin.

Pictured – in case you think this is going to be an Eeyore-fest, it isn’t. Spoilers but I had an utterly amazing time at a session and this was one of the looks. And yeah, I could barely walk in those heels. And I loved them.

So come Boxing Day I got hit with a huge dose of the ‘mehs’. Not self-destructive, not even feeling down (again, thank you happy pills), just tired and with absolutely no urge to do anything other than sit in front of my PS5 and play Fallout 4 for the fifth time (792 hours on the PC, and 200+ hours on the PS5…. over the Xmas break. Whoops).

I also noticed that every day I’d get to about five o’clock, or so, and raid the fridge for a can or five of beer. Or pop open a bottle of Red and accidentally find myself sadly tipping the last couple of drips into a glass, an hour or so later.

Pictured – and again, this blog doesn’t sink down into a self-pitying hole. I could literally not get the smile off of my face. Here I am pretending I am Lucille Ball getting a job as a diner waitress. It was that kind of session.

And also absolutely no urge to post anything on social media from the Sarah perspective. It was an odd sensation, I just felt no energy towards it.

Chuck in no urge to exercise as well and that wasn’t a good combination. For the whole of January, exception two exceptions, I drank every night, played PS5, and steadfastly did no exercise as well.

The upside of the happy pills meant I didn’t get the downers; I knew I was meh, but it wasn’t ‘too dark and heavy to get out from under the quilt’. It did lead to me travelling up to Manchester for a session with the wonderful Patti, and finding myself waking up in the hotel thinking ‘I just don’t want to do it today’. I did pay her, because I don’t want to be that person, and we went out for beers, pizza and a lot of laughs, but I felt no pangs of loss by not doing it, or guilt, which is my normal go to.

Pictured – I’ll just leave this picture of a happily smiling pregnant mum-to-be here…

So fast-forward to the end of January; come Friday the 26th I had a big bag of frocks and fun packed into the car, watching the clock, waiting for midday to set off and drive to London with the intention of having a whole Saturday having fun with Cinders at BWBG.

And yes, I had a lot of thoughts about cancelling. I’d been off of social media almost completely for three weeks with no urge to post or interact; again SAD was pressing down on me and the happy pills were insulating me from the previous side-effects. But, like a big boy, I forced myself in the car and did the four hours or so drive into London.

When I got there I felt a bit/lot better. Just actually doing something was a tonic, and after an evening of hi-jinks with copious cans of BrewDog and an Uber-Eats Chipotle, I walked back to the hotel to check in and sleep, popping into the brilliant Tower Bridge Pub (owned by BrewDog) for YetAnother(tm) can of Elvis Juice to tide me over to the hotel.

Pictured – I’m sure just one can won’t hurt the baby. Cough.

I woke at 6:00am and was completely up for it in a way I haven’t felt for a while; dealing with the myriad amount of annoying mental conditions over the years have focused my sessions into a day of anxiety, a day of fun, and a day of anxiety coming down from the high of dressing. The happy pills have taken that away somewhat, so I felt very light as I, carefully, shaved everywhere.

And that’s another interesting side-effect of the pills. My obsessions and compulsions have drifted away a little, no continuous worries about shaving in the four or five days before a sesh. I calmly got up, tutted to myself a little at the amount of underbrush to clear away, and shaved.

I was even slightly late for the session, only by five minutes. I had strolled over casually, about a mile, and popped into Starbucks; yeah, their coffee is, to put it mildly, not that great, but a quick small Mocha and a Cheese and Marmite Panini (which are back after Starbucks put my life into a spiral by stopping doing them for a couple of months) is my breakfast of Queens/Kings.

Pictured – my ‘tipsy wedding guest’ look. I wish the boyfriend would hurry up with my champagne top-up….

It was a lovely day, crisp, cold, a little overcast, and I just found myself sitting down by the river munching breakfast with nary a care in the world. No spoilers, but I’d be back there in about seven hours but this time in full retro glory (see the image for this blog – basically I was sat there in my jumper and jeans eating brekkie like a proper tourist earlier – what a difference seven hours make).

But yeah, a little spoiler there. I got there, chewed the fat with Cinders, got in the make-up chair and had probably the best session I have had. The happy pills made me unusually euphoric and it was delightful. I laughed during every look, drove Cinders nuts by suggesting (and going through with) going outside whenever we changed the look. Took loads of pictures, didn’t once feel uncomfortable or stressed.

And the looks we did were superb. I was utterly convinced, as part of the SAD and my ‘meh’ reaction to it, that I had piled on way too much weight for the looks to work. In honesty I’m about 4-5k over my target weight, and 9-10k over the weight I was when I was at my worst in terms of my silly dieting in the last couple of years (6ft 2in tall and I hit 74k, now hanging around 84/85).

Yeah, we had to ‘cheese-wire’, which is our fun term for whopping on a delightful little corset and squeezing me so hard it feels like my kidneys are being bisected, for one of the looks, but it was worth it; I got hold of a genuine and lovely Dirndl outfit with silk and embroidered flowers, and I have a soft spot for Dirndls.

Pictured – Oh GOD I love Dirndls……

Only issue is that sizing is always a game of roulette with Dirndls, and I had one that was just, by about an inch, too small around the stomach, but after a couple of maniacal laughs from Cinders as she pulled as hard as she could, and I braced myself against the cheese-wire, it fit.

I’d taken my usual set of new Retro frocks to try, and a couple of old favourites to try with the new retro wigs from Wig in the City. Plus I took my latest wig, which is a longer style and matches my own colour.

Ignoring the Eeyore-ness of the last month I actually had a couple of bucket-list items I wanted to do. I’ve always teased Cinders that we should do an outside shoot with one of the pregnancy looks; maybe it’s crossing a line but I love the style and feel, and being outside is a completely different feel for modelling outfits.

Pictured – of course we didn’t do any outside pictures of me as a pregnant woman as that would have been…… oh wait, yeah, we did. A load of them. And it was delightfully fun.

In the old days I would have literally caught fire stepping outside the door of the studio in anything femm, my heart would have been pounding, and I would spend the entire outside tottering on heels, desperately watching for passer-bys, and even more desperately wanting to be back in the safety behind a closed door. When I have got the courage up before I have always either been a little sloshed, or in the company of a dear friend (such as the time at Goodwood) where I got sloshed as fast as I could once we got anywhere near a bar.

But this day was completely different. I wanted to be outside, and every moment outside I couldn’t stop grinning, and literally didn’t want to go back inside.

Cinders does a great job of gently introducing people to the outside world. She makes sure their makeup is acceptable, their choice of clothes is designed to blend in, their shoes are sensible for walking in. I wanted none of that. I wanted retro as far as it could go, old fashioned heels, 40’s styled hair; I went out to Goodwood in the styles of the 40s but that was situational; this time I wanted to go stroll along the Thames in complete 1940’s femm mode.

Pictured – this look was sublime. This was a candid shot we did before we went out, I couldn’t get the smile off my face. Cute little bag over the shoulder too

Now it was a cold day. Not Siberian, like we have had a couple of times this Winter, but cold enough. And I decided ‘no coat’, I want to show the new Collectif frock off to its best. So imagine the scene; the sun is just starting to set, so it’s a lovely light level. It’s a Saturday late afternoon, around 17:00. The path up the Thames to Tower Bridge is heaving with tourists and families, all bundled up in thick coats and beanies against the cold wind coming off of the water. And I’m strutting up there in court shoes, a darling black and white pencil dress with a 1940’s collar, and a lovely 1940’s hairstyle.

Not exactly inconspicuous. And utterly fun.

Pictured – I’m sure no-one even noticed the ultra-happy, 40’s stylish 6ft 2in transvestite.

The happy pills have stripped the fear away. Yeah, there’s probably a down-side because there’s pretty much nothing I won’t try now, but they let me do something I have ached to do all my life. I walked along the path by the Thames as a 1940’s stylish woman, and it was amazing.

No one said anything. No one accosted me. Mind you, I was so happy that it would have been hard for someone to be cross with me.

As I stood with my hand, long pink nails plainly visible, on the below-freezing metal of the guard-rail I felt utterly *me*. Completely relaxed. I was shivering a bit and it wasn’t from the heat.

Pictured – back in pre-HappyPill days I wouldn’t go anywhere near a door/civilisation. I’m a big girl today….

What normally happens when I have a session that is so viscerally fun is that the sorrow kicks in pretty soon after the makeup has gone, but again, once we had finished, off came the makeup and the happy pills kept me happy.

It was nice in a number of important ways; I wasn’t too fat to look good, I wasn’t too meh to not do the session, and I enjoyed it in such a way that it opened my eyes to what I enjoy and what I love about the process, not just the anxiety, guilty and fear. I haven’t felt that ever, being honest, and it was lovely.

It’s now three days later and I can still feel the little smile trying hard at the corner of my (shaved) mouth to appear. I don’t have the downers, I don’t have the sighs. I still don’t quite have the get-up-and-goes, but February is upon us and that means more light, and I have a number of exercise-based things I am planning and looking forward to doing over the next couple of months that will keep my endorphins high enough for SAD not to drag me into the bed or the bottle.

Pictured – Cinders had to work very hard to stop me escaping into the night…..

And if I feel down or out of energy, I can just cast my mind back to that moment on the river’s edge, and that warmth, even on a bitterly cold evening, is still there inside.

Stay beautiful and if you’re feeling SAD, it won’t be for long. I can almost smell Spring, over the smell of Chanel No.5 that I ‘accidentally’ sprayed on to my drab coat as I put it away before driving home on Saturday…..

Pictured – nothing to see here, just an utterly happy girl in her pretty Dirndl outfit. That’ll do for me.