u/4amcore

I'm a very basic t-shirt and jeans kind of girl

But i recently bought a halter neck and backless jumpsuit which is way out of my comfort zone and i need something to wear underneath

I bought a byebra size L ( as it classified as 36-40) and I'm size 36 but the cup feels odd maybe because phailo choti use garera ho ki but the straps are like i can't trust that stickness like it feels like it will drop if i got active like rushing in works and type of things

And i genuinely need to hear the reviews like is this how it feels or am i just overreacting it

If anyone can help me with their experience with bye bra by girls select nepal, I'd really appreciate that

Please help girlsssss😭

My brain goes spiraling when I lay my eyes on a landscape I know too well.
My breath slows down when I say I still see the ghosts which they claimed to kill.
The world moves on in a hurry of light,
While I freeze in the shadows they left behind.
I stand there stunned when they say I no longer feel that way again,
But how would I tell them that it never stopped?
When I lay my head on my pillow, my tears unknowingly fall,
And when I close my eyes, I see the dark.
I skip to another universe where I feel calm—Dark and dark.
I stay quiet when they claim they pulled me out of my darkness,
Thinking how easily they lie.
I know my memory is not that great,
But I'm sure they never pulled me out of my comfort place.
And it’s more sad to feel all this,
When I have the greatest companion I could ever get.

My brain goes spiraling when I lay my eyes on a landscape I know too well.
My breath slows down when I say I still see the ghosts which they claimed to kill.
The world moves on in a hurry of light,
While I freeze in the shadows they left behind.
I stand there stunned when they say I no longer feel that way again,
But how would I tell them that it never stopped?
When I lay my head on my pillow, my tears unknowingly fall,
And when I close my eyes, I see the dark.
I skip to another universe where I feel calm—Dark and dark.
I stay quiet when they claim they pulled me out of my darkness,
Thinking how easily they lie.
I know my memory is not that great,
But I'm sure they never pulled me out of my comfort place.
And it’s more sad to feel all this,
When I have the greatest companion I could ever get.

what is more dangerous heavy or deep than a quiet mind at war?

there is nothing more dangerous heavy or deep

than a girl who wastes her all days sleeping

constantly tired asking for forgiveness

seeking the company of others to fill in the missing

I freak out I stress think drowning in huh??

caught up in places of static noise and mud

I stare at my reflection trying to deal

hating my side profile scrubbing away my appeal

my memories seem to vanish like a ghost in the woods

leaving me in a state of dissociation

where i freeze in my shoes

i cant remember half of what i have done in days

unless someone reminds me or flashes it back into my brain

its a foggy state of mind a beautiful haze.

what is more dangerous heavy or deep than a quiet mind at war?

there is nothing more dangerous heavy or deep

than a girl who wastes her all days sleeping

constantly tired asking for forgiveness

seeking the company of others to fill in the missing

I freak out I stress think drowning in huh??

caught up in places of static noise and mud

I stare at my reflection trying to deal

hating my side profile scrubbing away my appeal

my memories seem to vanish like a ghost in the woods

leaving me in a state of dissociation

where i freeze in my shoes

i cant remember half of what i have done in days

unless someone reminds me or flashes it back into my brain

its a foggy state of mind a beautiful haze.

what is more dangerous heavy or deep than a quiet mind at war?

there is nothing more dangerous heavy or deep

than a girl who wastes her all days sleeping

constantly tired asking for forgiveness

seeking the company of others to fill in the missing

I freak out I stress think drowning in huh??

caught up in places of static noise and mud

I stare at my reflection trying to deal

hating my side profile scrubbing away my appeal

my memories seem to vanish like a ghost in the woods

leaving me in a state of dissociation

where i freeze in my shoes

i cant remember half of what i have done in days

unless someone reminds me or flashes it back into my brain

its a foggy state of mind a beautiful haze.

There is nothing more dangerous, heavy, or deep,

Than a girl who spends all of her days fast asleep.

Always so tired, yet begging for grace,

Wanting for people to fill up the space.

I panic, I overthink, drowning in huh?

Trapped in the static, the noise, and the mud.

I look in the mirror, attempting to cope,

Disliking my profile, erasing my hope.

My memory fades like a ghost in the trees,

A disassociation that leaves me to freeze.

I can’t recall half of the life I have led,

Unless someone brings it back into my head.

It’s a hazy existence, a beautiful blur,

Unsure of the girl that I originally were

There is nothing more dangerous, heavy, or deep,

Than a girl who spends all of her days fast asleep.

Always so tired, yet begging for grace,

Wanting people to fill up the space.

I panic, I overthink, drowning in huh?

Trapped in the static, the noise, and the mud.

I look in the mirror, attempting to cope,

Disliking my profile, erasing my hope.

My memory fades like a ghost in the trees,

A disassociation that leaves me to freeze.

I can’t recall half of the life I have led,

Unless someone brings it back into my head.

It’s a hazy existence, a beautiful blur,

Unsure of the girl that I originally were

I am the builder of silence, the maker of the wall.

I construct the tower high and hope I won't fall.

I call it "protection," this jagged, heavy stone, but I’m just getting better at being bitter and alone.

I make it hard for people to love me; I make the words feel tight.

Every conversation turns into a cold and lonely fight.

I have a ghosts standing guard at every gate, reminding me that letting go just invites fate.

"They’ll betray you," they whisper, so I double-bolt the door, keeping out the very peace I’ve been craving.

I manage my own shaking hands and wipe away the streak, terrified that feeling is a sign of weakness.

I want the fairy tale, the rescue, the hand held in the dark.

I want to be the girl who allows a hero to leave a mark.

But I feel embarrassed by the soft things, the "need" inside my chest, so I retreat into the shadows, where I know I’m not a guest.

I am the problem in the room, the wall that won't come down. I want the golden throne but hate to wear the crown.

I cry on my own shoulder;

I’ve built a world of my own.

I am too scared to let you see the heart I’m sure you will break.

I’m capable;

I’ve survived it all on my own,

but I’d love to be the one who doesn’t have to be the stone.

I am the builder of silence, the maker of the wall.

I construct the tower high and hope I won't fall.

I call it "protection," this jagged, heavy stone, but I’m just getting better at being bitter and alone.

I make it hard for people to love me; I make the words feel tight.

Every conversation turns into a cold and lonely fight.

I have a ghosts standing guard at every gate, reminding me that letting go just invites fate.

"They’ll betray you," they whisper, so I double-bolt the door, keeping out the very peace I’ve been craving.

I manage my own shaking hands and wipe away the streak, terrified that feeling is a sign of weakness.

I want the fairy tale, the rescue, the hand held in the dark.

I want to be the girl who allows a hero to leave a mark.

But I feel embarrassed by the soft things, the "need" inside my chest, so I retreat into the shadows, where I know I’m not a guest.

I am the problem in the room, the wall that won't come down. I want the golden throne but hate to wear the crown.

I cry on my own shoulder;

I’ve built a world of my own.

I am too scared to let you see the heart I’m sure you will break.

I’m capable;

I’ve survived it all on my own,

but I’d love to be the one who doesn’t have to be the stone.

I forgive you for trying to fill my silence;

I am surrounded with your words,

and you want to know what's going on inside my mind,

and you generally don't quite get there any way.

I forgive you for making the same mistakes repeatedly over and over again ones we've discussed.

It's like you're trying to read a book in a foreign language-shuffling through it to determine you're saying the right thing.

I know you are trying to do the right thing I forgive you for not realizing my silence is nothing to be fixed.

You're a human being and you're saying your mind and you're always there and when you get it wrong I am still here with you mistakes

and all because I know you are trying.

And I don't care about the mistakes I don't care about the silence I care that you're trying.

To be the reliable one means you pay a price with your visibility.

You give up being a little messy for being the person.

You learn on that your worth is tied to how little you complain when things get tough.

The cost is being on edge all the time.

You get used to holding your breath so others don't lose theirs.

It means losing the option to say "I give up".

When you are the support system you realize there is no one to catch you if you fall.

So you just stop falling.

You pay with being tired all the time being the first to arrive and the last to give up.

You build an image so people forget that there is a real tired person under the surface.

Ultimately the price is losing touch with what you need.

You get really good at handling peoples problems but you forget how to handle your own.

You plan everything so you feel safe.

You lose the fun in life.

You are, like the sky that everyone takes for granted.

You are beautiful.

Always there, but you carry a heavy weight that no one thinks about.

If I stopped bending?

The bridge would just snap. I'm the eldest daughter, I've spent years acting as the scaffolding for a house I didn't even design.

I've turned textbooks into a heavy shield, hiding the fact that I'm drowning in the 'investment' my parents made in me.

If I let the mask shatter, my family wouldn't see a daughter.

They'd see a broken contract. A void where the paychecks and the 'perfect girl' were supposed to be.

The one left?

Maybe the peeling paint on my bedroom wall. The ghosts of poems I burned to make room for business reports.

The 4:00 am silence doesn't ask me for 'izzat' or a career plan.

Everyone else is in love with the architecture I've become.

No one actually cares about the girl suffocating under the stones.

[removed]