The issue of Mass and Volume

I keep thinking of things to tell you about, if there's even a reader out there.

The last time I weighed myself was about a week ago, and I came in at 153 pounds. I've bounced back and forth between 140 and 160 for about two years now. The lowest I've ever gotten down to is 130. I think, maybe, I hit the 120s, but I honestly can't remember. It's probably a good thing, too. Honestly, the back and forth in my mind is proposterous. I know how horrible it is to purge my food, or to starve myself. I've been cutting back on my consumption, this past week, moreso because I cannot afford to eat than anything.

Also, depression plays a part. The self-hate, the disgust, the horror of the fat blimp I've become. I don't eat healthy, and now I can't really afford fresh vegetables. I crave carbohydrates and fat like some starving, rabid freak.

Somehow I still get hit on. I still have sex. My brain is fucked up. Sometimes, I look in the mirror and see the blimp. Others, I see a soft, womanly figure. It isn't a bad thing. The emaciated look isn't really my style, not to mention probably impossible for me to accommodate or accomplish. Emaciated, weak, sick is not something I want to be.

But then I remember what it felt like to feel my hip bones protruding, and the faint knock of my ribs. I remember how I looked, and though I don't have many pictures, it hurts to look back and remember that I was that close to my ultimate goal.

What was my goal? Fuck, double digits. FUCK double digits, I mean. Ninety-eight pounds. I'm 5'4", that'd be a suitable match. But it isn't sane, it isn't healthy on any level, and I'm too old now to fall for the double zero fan club.

But I want bones, I want to be thin. I want to not be embarrassed when someone picks me up, to not apologize for my stretch marks and fat rolls. I want to not look like this, to not stretch my shirts out when I forget to suck in. I want to be able to fit into my jeans, to look good in dresses. I want to feel confident, to know I'm smoking hot and to know that anyone who doesn't want me is a goddamn idiot.

I can't plan these things out, though. I can't just sit down, write out what I'm going to eat for the day or week, and then follow that plan. I'm rebellious, and I'm stubborn, and it's maddening. I'll rebel against my own agenda, simply because I said, at an earlier hour, that I was going to do that, exactly this way. It may not make much sense, but it's the truth.

So I have to go about it another way. I have to be spontaneous with it. When I start to feel hungry, I have to just drink some water, or tell myself now. Remind myself what delayed gratification is. It will work out, it will. I just have to try it, and try it a way that I won't obliterate with my stubbornness.

It can happen. It will. It is. Now, to stop talking about it, and to be it.