|off the train of thought|
2007-07-24 16:53:06 ET
Oh god these are so industrial:
2007-07-24 16:16:00 ET
I hear a lot of people at the office talking about exercising and their weight almost *constantly*. I'm not the type to go on and on about my own problems in a large social setting, but I'm more of a quiet obsesser. I don't think there's an hour that goes by every days where I don't think about my body at least once. All I see when I look at myself is endless rolls of fat and dimpled cellulite, stretch marks and body mass. You know those women they show on television who can barely move because they're so obese? That's exactly what I see in the mirror.
I am more than certain that I am overreacting about my weight, but I honestly cannot help it. Everyone around me is thin and beautiful, and I'm constantly reminded that I'm "the fat one" in the crowd. Yes, I have curves, and yes, I have large breasts, but there comes a point when those just don't help to overshadow the obese, monstrosity that I am.
I sit here at the computer and look down, and I'm just faced with fat. I try to find an outfit to wear clubbing, and I have to toss out half of my wardrobe because it either doesn't fit me or it will only accentuate my jiggling rolls. At work, everyone is thin and attractive and I just can't stop noticing every bit of everyone's bodies that isn't like mine.
I come home and I exercise until my limbs and muscles literally will not move anymore, and it still doesn't seem to be enough. Whenever I'm not exercising I feel a horrible guilt that I should be lifting weights or doing crunches, even if I am getting ready for bed.
I don't even know what it feels like to be thin. I haven't been fat my entire life, but I have always been larger than everyone around me. I think I just didn't give a shit when I was in the first years of high school because I was so immersed in depression.
My goal at this point is to get back to a size 10, like I was when I first entered college. That means that I have to go down about 3 sizes, 5 inches on my waist, and 60 pounds. I retch when I think that only a few months ago I was 20 pounds heavier than I am now, and glad that I started exercising when I did. Though now, it seems that my body wants to be stuck at 200lbs.
My mind feels detached from my body; it feels like it's a separate entity clinging onto my frame and ideal sense of self. Sometimes my mind does think that I am much thinner than I am now, until I pass by a shop window or the mirror in the bathroom and reality comes crashing in. I blame my father's genes, mainly: most of the people on my mother's side of the family is stick-thin, while my father's side has always been "rotund". My sister even takes after the maternal side of the family-- curvy, skinny, and beautiful. I feel like my brother and I got the short end of the proverbial stick.
I just want to like myself, and actually have the body that is imaged in my head. I want to be able to eat a salad without feeling horrible guilt that I am stuffing my face, even if it is healthy and small-portioned. I want to be able to walk around the city without thinking that everyone who passes me just sees a giant blob with a mohawk. I want to have to go broke buying a whole new, smaller wardrobe and burn my fat clothes. I want men and women to look at me and actually feel attracted to me, instead of either just settling for the "voluptuous" woman or showing their back to my face. I would really, really like to not hate every second that I am awake because I am this horrific.
2007-07-16 15:47:26 ET
Lawdy. Here are the pics from Friday's party, all of people none of you know. The guy in the red shirt and the guy in the green Smiths shirt are my coworkers.
Debauchery and Tits
|that was some crazy party|
2007-07-14 14:50:10 ET
I totally can't remember how many people I made out with last night.
Yay for being topless around my coworkers!
2007-07-11 12:24:29 ET
There are some people in your life who, no matter how hard you try, never seem to be able to leave, whether in flesh or in mind.
They bore their way into your very fiber, and as much as you try to detox them out, there is still a small piece, memory, left behind.
Because in some small way you wish you could change them, save them, from the destruction they have made out of their lives. You think that someday, they will come back and be the person you once loved.
The realization that they will never be them again is more painful than death.
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