This will be an overly dramatic sounding post. It will make me look like a person that I normally am not. But I think planning a wedding does that to a person.

I am getting married in less than three weeks. This past weekend, three weeks to the wedding to the day, I went to pick up my wedding dress from its final round of alterations. My day going as most have been going lately, I was running late and only had a little bit of time to get the dress and head home to pick up my fiancé for a meeting with out minister.

So I get my dress and try it on. And it’s bad. And I know it’s bad. It’s attacking my vanities about my weight and appearance and challenging me to feel good anyway but I can’t. I am broken down well beyond the point where I can handle things like that. My boobs look like torpedoes, and not in a good way, I suddenly have developed back fat, which is splooging out the top of my dress and my boobs are leaking out under my armpits.

Now, Me of a few months ago, pre-wedding Me, would have handled this situation okay. (Not great, but okay.) I would have sucked it up and talked to the woman and at a minimum not had to pay for her service. But Me of now is hanging on by a thread – emotionally spent. I paid for the alterations, grabbed my dress and drove home.

After I picked up Wonder Boy to head to our minister’s house, he kept asking me what was wrong and if I was mad at him. I maintained my stony silence and got through our meeting with no problems. When we got back home I briefly explained that I thought the dress was messed up and asked Wonder Boy to take a look at me in the dress to see what he thought. He took one look and the expression on his face was permission to lose it. To 100% break down. I started crying so immediately and so hard that I had to stay bent over so that the tears dripping off my face wouldn’t taint the already tainted dress. I quickly took it off.

What followed were a very painful 30 minutes. I’m guessing on time but I know I was fetal on my bed sobbing in nothing but my corset and slip (one of those huge things with a three foot diameter). The whole time while I am howling, one of the cats is licking the tulle on the slip.

When I was out of tears and my face was basically wore out from the crying, I wiped my face and nose and called my sister. Thankfully she was free so I hit the road to go get her and buy a new dress.

This post originally appeared on Kate’s Point of View. © Kate. All rights reserved.