So it's been several long, long months. I've done some cool things, been to amazing places. And wouldn't it be nice for me to come back to this blog, read over the entries full of fear into turning into a fatassed monster and then wipe my forehead and go "phew!" and then create a post for my imaginary audience informing them of my amazing slimdown and how I'm currently the fittest I could ever dream of being or the size of Tinkerbell?
Well, I'm sure I could have posted that if I had any sort of self-control over myself. Instead I have been labouring each day under the lie of "I'll start my strict exercise and diet regime tomorrow so today is the last binge EVER". Now times that by about 3 times per week and you've got the source of the 10 kg that I've managed to accumulate in almost a year.
I look back at that first September entry and I'm shocked by how tiny that number is (86) compared to the collosal beast I've become. I had a real chance of losing weight in a safe and slow manner and to look good for prom. Instead I was like a beached whale with arms so huge I can't even bare to look at the pictures for fear of sinking into permanent depression.
I'm just so sad because there's so much more to me than this lumbering beast that I am on the outside. And the weight is holding me back soo much, because I hardly ever feel comfortable in my clothes because they always feel wrong and like a fat person's. And now I'm basically dreading university even though this should be the most exciting time of my life.
And of course my extremist mind (instant gratification and all that) was convincing me that a nice mixture of anorexia and bulimia was the way to go in university. Of course I could never pass of bulimia since the bathrooms are public and I doubt that "drunkeness" could be used as an excuse at like 4 pm.
You know, when I'm reading a book, and it concerns some cool girl, there's always a passage about how that girl eats so little, it would be barely enough for a little bird to survive on. But the girl is always tall and lean, and gorgeous. Or there was some story about Angelina Jolie and how her main meal is a glass of wine (not hard to believe looking at her pictures). And I just desparately want to be that girl that nibbles on a morcel of cheese with her glass of wine and who perpetually looks cool and never dishevelled or sweaty or with crusty makeup.
I know I'm a really bright girl and I would hate for my life experiences to be hindered by this sack of fat I'm lugging around with me. Plus, my god, there is truly nothing as crushing as having a conversation with someone and then without any warning, they give you a once-over, focussing on your bulging belly or disgusting arms or thick thighs. And you have to go on with the conversation even though you're so hurt because you don't want to give them an indication that you're aware of their disgust or sickened awe at how someone could get so fat.
