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Jobless, broke, heartbroken, the black sheep and laughing stock of my family, suicide had popped up in my depressed mind as an option several times before, and still attempted a comeback this morning. I quickly shrugged it off with a resigned sigh. Head buzzing from the thousand bees of a massive hangover in addition to the body ache, I crawled out of bed and curled up in a foetal position, letting the feeling of depression, sadness, bitter regret and hopelessness wash over me.
I had prayed many times before, even gone to church intermittently, falling asleep during sermons which I considered pretentious. But today it was just me and God. On that cold floor, I cried for my life, bad choices, my dangerous fascination with getting high, the many fights, binge drinking and drugged out nights, some of which were spent in police cells. As dawn broke over the city, I freely wept for my failed relationship that resulted in a son who was far away from me because his mother had told me she was afraid I would one day cross the line of sanity and kill them both.
Please if you can hear me, help me get out of all this. It was a very short prayer and a long dirge all rolled into one. But I thank God for listening. Immediately after the prayer, I knew what must change. I had decided to change earlier when Barack Obama won his first term in November , the "Yes We Can" slogan becoming a mantra that I wanted to live by. I had even shaved my dreadlocks but kept postponing the divorce from drugs and self-destructive behaviour — until now. In that collection of mabati and plastic bag shelters peppered by flying toilets, and illegally connected power wires deceptively threading the houses like washing lines, I discovered what it means to coexist with neighbours, to understand that people are more than just faces in a crowd to be used and dumped at will, to recognise there is more to life than just breathing and taking advantage of opportunities to fulfil my darkest fantasies.
I am still growing, and I have learnt it is important to forgive others and myself for the many mistakes. One of our members is a year-old girl who takes a 28G.
Shops like La Senza and Ann Summers are coming around, but not everyone has access to these stores. So Busts 4 Justice is expanding its campaign to pressure all High Street retailers to take larger busts seriously and, quite literally, expand their ranges. They would do well to listen. The average UK woman should be wearing a 34E bra. That's a lot of potential customers out there. I'd give anything to be able to breeze into Topshop and chuck a cute, cheap little bra into my basket along with my jeans and top.
But that day is a long way off.
A good friend of mine had a breast enlargement last year. I'd long been jealous of her perky little French embonpoint and warned her that by taking herself from a B cup to an F she was entering into a life of frustration and expense. A month later, she called me on the verge of tears. The bandages were off and she had just been shopping for her first big-busted bra.
While specialist websites such as Bravissimo and Figleaves have unbeatable ranges of bras for larger ladies, there is no substitute for trying before you buy. If I need to order a bra to go with a certain outfit, I buy four of the same style in different sizes and cross my fingers that at least one will fit, then return the rest. As any man will testify, all boobs are lovely. There is no right or wrong cup size. So why do our favourite shops make women who don't fit their idea of 'normal' feel ostracised and hit them in the pocket?
If you were blessed with breasts below a DD cup, then thank your lucky stars that the High Street is on your side. If you're a bigger busted woman, get on to the Bras 4 Justice bandwagon. Ask your High Street shops why you can't fit more than a nipple into their largest cup size and write to them asking them to stock bras for women like you.
Busts, like women in general, are getting bigger every year. The problem is under our noses.
Or, if we can't afford to buy a well-fitting bra, more likely somewhere around our knees. No comments have so far been submitted. Why not be the first to send us your thoughts, or debate this issue live on our message boards.
Monday, Sep 17th 5-Day Forecast. I've got to get this off my chest!
I said I swear, and I meant it, this is a part of me. Talk your way out of this one boy. Login with Google Error: A month later, she called me on the verge of tears. California Gold Rush 4. He claims she told him she couldn't get pregnant, and tells her he thought they were just "hanging out," not having an actual relationship. We would plan dates but he would never show up.
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