My weight dances between 105 and 107, which isn’t bad. That was actually my original goal. But I’m not happy with that. At all. I’m going to Montreal for March Break (March 13-17) and I want to be 100 or less. That is more than enough time. After that, I have prom to worry about and there just isn’t any room for fat.
So much has been going on. Some things getting worse, and some getting better. In terms of my weight, I got down to my lowest of 104.8, before wonderfully getting my period and bloating up to 109-ish (I was too afraid to see the number set in stone once I saw it up that high). I’ve been trying to avoid this… obsession with my weight. I stopped counting calories. I think. I have an idea of what I’m eating calorie-wise, but not to the exact number. I stopped using the app on my BlackBerry to keep track, but I use it to check foods. I eat less meals now because I don’t count the calories, and I need to start again. I need to be on a diet. Prom is coming up and there is no way in hell that I’m buying a dress that isn’t a size 2 or smaller.
I thought I could get away from this by just not going on this blog at all. No pictures, no one else’s progress to discourage me, no diets. But I feel like something is missing. I thought I could avoid the depression by not seeing everyone else, skinny and beautiful, and damn close to perfect. But you can’t run from that. No way to escape.
Shit hit the fan in early January. So my mom knows about everything I would have taken to my grave if I had the chance. The eating. The scars.
My girlfriend.
Whom she made me break up with. So my moods are all over the place. I’m laughing one second, crying the other. I’m okay all day, and miserable at night. I try to keep her in my life, but then I feel like I’m betraying my mother. I lash out at her and at make her as miserable as I am. And of course, I feel like shit after. I lash out at everyone really.
Yesterday, I finally went to talk to someone. Really talk to someone. An adult. At the moment, I feel like it was a good idea, and maybe things will get better. But I feel like I may regret it later. Like fixing my problems would change who I am, and I’m not sure I’m ready to let go. It’s pathetic, but I’m beyond caring.
I’m beyond caring about most things. Well, mostly school. It’s not a good attitude to have when this is supposed to be my final year, and I’m supposed to be off to university this September. I’m failing a class, and can’t be bothered to try in the other. I don’t care to get to school on time, or even to go to class. I get angry when I think about school sometimes. I don’t know why. But I guess I don’t really care much about that either.
Again, I apologize about the rant and the hiatus. I’m just trying to hold myself together.
