My Husband Makes Me Cool

While sitting in church this past Sunday, struggling to pay attention to a way awesome lesson, I couldn't help but think of how much my life resembled the movie Never Been Kissed. I don't know where the thought originated from - but there it was.
I am not the "cool cat" of the crowd. My very existence is riddled with social anxiety and feelings of inadequacy, all while trying to stave off the ever-present pink elephant of depression. I wasn't always this way. I used to be social. I used to be good enough. I used to be happy-go-lucky. But that all changed when my life took a rather decisive nose dive in middle school.
I went from being this:
to this:
which eventually morphed into this:
And I pretty much stayed that way - oh, I would try to hide it with makeup and hair and new clothes - until he came along.
Rob. After nine years of metallic pink dresses riddled with lace and braces to match, my whole life force changed.
Remember in the movie where Drew was at absolute rock bottom, with no hope of survival, struggling to fit in? Then Rob walks in the door, dusts off her knees, and picks her very being up until she's finally "cool"?
I feel like Dave is my Rob. I was at my rock bottom - called off engagement, no there-for-you-when-times-totally-suck friends that call at 3am because they KNOW you're up crying. When in walks Dave. Happy-go-lucky-I-don't-give-a-sh!t Dave. I went from this:
to this:
and am trying DESPERATELY to morph back into this:
With Dave I know I can do it. It seems like a futile struggle at times - like now when my body is morphing into the unknown and I have the self-esteem of a kumquat. But I know I will get there. Dave keeps dusting off my knees, keeps struggling to pick me up when I tear myself down - but he never gives up. He's my Rob.
And someday, when I'm ready, I'll rip off my crown and and yell for all those to hear - that d@mn it, I am back. And I refuse to wear anything metallic.