My eating hurts now.
So much. So fucking much going into my mouth.
I just binged to the point of feeling in pain. Where I was shaking. I broke down in tears begging myself to stop. Not because of weight.
But because I thought my stomach was going to explode.
Days and days of this now.
No more.
This hurts too much.


Ugh.
Time to make myself feel this hunger thing again.
I will not be eating myself sick every chance I get for my 23rd birthday.
It's on the 26th.
I will not be like this.
I will start my 23rd year in a HAPPY way.

Hoorah.

I feel like putting my head into my hands
and crying.

Not for me.

But for them.

I see the people I used to love and know, and their eyes are so filled with pain. The memories of war written so plainly on their faces when they think nobody sees. A one night stand with a boy who I barely talked to in High School, who was always so filled with joy, and I knew when he touched me that there was lies hidden behind his fingers, but I kept myself so distant. I didn't want to be attached. I don't like men.
But now I wish I could see him again.

He's back in Germany. He's leaving for Afghanistan again. His third or fourth tour of duty.
He has PTSD. He can't go anywhere without his gun. He can't sleep unless it's under his pillow.

He can't sleep by himself or the nightmares overtake him.

His friend told me all of this. His best friend.

I cried when I left the house. I cried, and thought of how much laughter had been on his face when we had rolled around. And how much I wanted to reach into him and just hold him for some reason, and now I understand. I want to kiss over every scar on his body those road side bombs gave him. I want to make his smiles real. I want to save him, and I don't know how.

And others I knew, who never went to the war.



Another boy who used to be so perfect. Never touched drugs or liquor or anything bad.
His arms are now covered in scars from where he's cut himself. He hasn't been sober in going on seven years.



None of us have reached the age of 25. Most of them are barely 23.

Barely old enough to drink.

Barely old enough to know what we're doing.

I have an eating disorder. Another has PTSD. Another is so fucked up on drugs and liquor he can't recognize his own face half the time. He lives on the streets when none of the guys has a couch he can crash on.



We've fallen apart.

One of my friends, a girl, is getting divorced.
The boys have been lost.

The girls are struggling to support their own minds.

The world has completely shattered them. And they hide their pain with smiles and just...live, and exist, because it's all they can do.

We weren't supposed to fall apart. We weren't supposed to be like this.
We were supposed to succeed. To have great dreams. To grow up. To eventually figure it out.



What happened to us?
What will happen to us?




I realized a few years ago--or thought I realized--that not all of us make it in the end.
I think I really got it yesterday.

I slept for almost 24 hours. When I wasn't sleeping, I was eating.
and when I wasn't doing either of those, I was trying not to cry.

So many people I know and who i went to school with and graduated with are dead.
Car accidents, murders...
...war.

Others...others are most likely going to be in the next few years.

We're not going to make it. Not all of us.

It's what makes the golden years so golden.
It's like getting a fucking medal.

"Congratulations. You lived this long. You beat the odds. You might not have made it in tact. But you're old enough to die and not have it be a super tragedy now."



Fuck everything.
This world is shit.
I want my innocence back.

HOLY FUCKING TITS

SIZE 3!

SIIIIIIZE 3 MOTHERFUCKERS.
OMFG OMG OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG

I
AM
A
SIZE
THREE.


SIIIIIIZZZZEEEE THREEEEEE!

I JUST WENT TO THE STORE
PICKED UP THREES
WENT
"THESE WILL NOT FIT ME BUT I WANNA SEE HOW FAR I AM FROM THEM"
BUT GUESS WHAT?
THEY FIT
THEY FUCKING FIT
I NOW OWN SIZE THREE JEANS


SIZE THREE!!!!

AND I STILL HAVE 16 POUNDS TO LOSE!
I MIGHT ACTUALLY REACH A SIZE ZERO!!!!!!



EEEEEEE!

Oh hunger, how I despise thee.

Not regular hunger.
No.
Not the pain in the stomach.
The ache in the body.
Feeling it above your eyes and behind them, like a pressure starting on the bone, slipping down and threatening to squeeze them from your head. A heavy weight of feathers tickling the back of your head and down into your shoulders and back. A full body feeling that has nothing to do with cravings or pains in the belly, but everything to do with a structural outcry for sustenance. A plea for anything to sate a slowly progressing lack of nutrition and fuel.

It makes me tired. Too tired to make food. Too tired to do anything but put my head down and wish I could sleep. But think of how much I want to eat.

It's not even a binge type hunger. There is no threat of a binge.
I don't know what this feeling is.

It's like if I eat, I'll be sick at this point.
I haven't even been that low on calories.
Just progressive restriction, perhaps?




Or it could just be the sickness still in my system. Lingering and thick.



Today I was at 116.8lb's. I have no idea how I'm still losing. Or how I feel this sort of hungry. My calories have been around 900-1100 a day, and I haven't been working out at all. Perhaps it's general muscle atrophy. Perhaps it's millions of things.


I can't wait until the end of the week. My last week working graveyards.
Hoorah.

DO THE SPRINKLER!

..
.....
........EEEEEEEEEEEE EIGHTY FUCKING POUNDS HOLY SHIT!!!!!!!

Okay XD YES I realize it TODAY of all days, when I've gone up a little bit (HOORAH WATER WEIGHT or something) but OMFG. I'm starting to feel better, and actually HAPPY now. Plus, I was cracking up when reading all the comments, thinking, "INTERNATIONAL PRETTYWRECK CELEBRATORY DANCE!" So now I'm return dancing for all of you. And just for how awesome you guys are in DOING the wiggle dance for me yesterday, I solemnly vow that I, PrettyWreck, will at some point, post up a video or something of me doing the sprinkler. Yes, you read that right. I will post a video, or an animated gif, or something, of me doing the sprinkler, or the white boy dance. Or something. It'll be part of a progress post, most likely, when I get closer to my goal (WHICH IS NOW SO CLOSE I CAN TAAAASTE IT).




So yeah.

I'm now 117.4, which is GOOD considering I thought I'd jump up to like, 119 or something. Not sure why. But I think I need to hit the gym tomorrow or something, because I have a feeling I'm going to suddenly sky rocket for some reason. OHNOS WORRISOME.

Also. THURSDAY NIGHT/FRIDAY MORNING IS MY FINAL FUCKING NIGHT WORKING GRAVEYARD SHIFTS.

This means it will be HARDER to hide my disorder, but this also means that I will NOW BE AWAKE DURING THE FUCKING DAY.

I CAN HAVE A LIFE AGAIN, YOU GUYS.

IT WILL BE AMAZING.

I've also realized that I am very unfortunately shaped.

I have a lot of excess skin that I need to fix. And I need to get my boobs done, and very soon. I hate my boobs. But I have a very round rib cage. It's very LARGE. And I'm kind of starting to show some ribs, but I'm still fat. Which is confusing to my brain. Because I know my thighs are still like, massive. But...my stomach is now curved in under my ribs. But it's still a floppy belly. I think it's a lot of skin. I mean, it was ballooned out an extra ten inches, but still. Very unfortunately shaped. I just have to do lots of exercising to try and tighten up the skin, which utterly sucks. That's apparently harder than losing the weight. YAY for me :\

Also, I'm still really god damned tired, but wide awake. I feel A MILLION times better. I actually slept like the dead, without any pain, yesterday, which was such a wonderful feeling. But I really didn't want to wake up. So I'm going to bed early today,a nd hoping I get enough sleep before work.

And a friend comes in from Washington/Oregon (I forget where she lives right now. S he moves a lot) to visit this weekend, and it just so happens that I have a threeday weekend. And I start my new shift Monday, meaning I'll have to start waking up at noon, anyway, so I'll be awake when she is. And I'll get to see her. And I'll get to PLAY.

I turn 23 in 14 days.
I wonder if I can be down to 116 by then?
That would be very awesome.

I want to do something fun this birthday. Since...I don't even remember what the fuck I did for my last one. Too insecure, and living too much of a boring life. Hooray.

Too tired to be my own parade....

Woke up today and found out I was 117lb's. New low, and also the official marker of 80lb's lost. 70, since I weighed in at 187 on April 1st. I'm honestly surprised, because I woke up feeling so crummy, and went to bed feeling like shit. Yesterday, when I woke up, I went to Wendy's and got stale nuggets, fell asleep, woke up and had cereal, and then just kept eating. I didn't keep track of what I ate. It wasn't too terrible, I know that much. Meaning I don't think I exceeded 1400 calories, which...is actually really fucking bad. Holy shit. But it's still under the "normal" amount. I also had half a granola bar before bed, and a few bites of chicken my stepmom had boiled for broth. I was certain I was going to wake up still in the 118-119 range, which is, honestly, not a bad number, considering how sick I've been. But nope. I woke up at 117. Bloated, and in pain, and 117.

Huh.

I figure the number is going to go up when I start to get better. I think it has to be muscle mass MELTING or something. Whatever. All I know is I'm at work, and wanting to go to bed. And if I felt better, I might actually throw a parade for this landmark. 80lb's. My big pitbull/lab mix weighs only 10lb's more than that. My nephew weighs less than that. I have lost either the same amount of weight that makes up a large dog, or a beefy nephew.

I took my measurements, and since May, when I was at 170, I've lost 10 inches off my waist. I went from having a size 37 waist, to a 27. And the total inches I've lost all together, if you converted them into feet, would be taller than I am. 5.4 feet or something. I'm 4.9 feet (4'11.75 inches).

Weird that.

I'm sure if I were awake and feeling good enough to celebrate, or feel anything other than absolutely exhausted, I'd be dancing or something.

But I'm not. So...as my minions (followers, friends, allies, comrades at arms!, people I adore, loves of my life, apples of my eyes, light of my heart, &c. &c. &c....goodness, I'm a little silly right now, aren't I?) you should do a dance for me. You don't have to rejoice for me. Just wiggle your hands in the air, even if you're not happy. Go "Yaaaaay" and then be done with it.




I'd do it for you.

And it's not selfish, because I'm not asking you to be happy FOR me. I'm just asking you to express my own joy for a moment until I get better and can properly freak out and spew a million exclamation points all over the keyboard and bunches of omfg's and happy dances for myself. I'm sure it'll come in a day or two.




Also, I fell asleep at the desk at work. Got caught by someone (who I know and who won't tell) and they're like, "You were drooling." And I said, "No. I wasn't. I was...closely examining the desk while I spit polished it. Total difference."

For someone who forgot how to pronounce the word "purchasing" twice today from sheer sleepiness, I think that was pretty good.

Fever Dreams

"Scars show us where we've been. They don't have to dictate where we're going." - David Rossi, Criminal Minds

First off, to commenter KB (using initials), I'll be posting up more pics later on. SkinnyLove has asked about them, too. I normally tend to put them up every month or so, but there will be more pics later on ♥ Also, KB, when you comment, everything has to be approved, so I'll get your comments, but can make sure to delete them so no one else can see.


Beyond that, I've had a massive fever. Really bad nightmares. Awesome. I keep switching between binging and starving, but I've been staying at about 118 to 119. The sore throat is getting really bad, and is the worst when I first wake up, but I keep sleeeeeeeping. I just wish I'd get over this so I could get back to the gym and to my routine.
So I might not be commenting or posting a lot for the next day or two. This thing is seriously kicking my ass, and I'm just trying to sleep it off right now.

Have fun, dollfaces.

To All My Followers ♥

Dear Blog Followers;
I fucking love you all.

I feel strange sometimes, spilling my insecurities and vulnerabilities for all to see. This private monster inside of me has been made public for you to see, and sometimes, when comments are left wishing to be more like me, I feel absolute shame--because I don't want people to want to be this. But I also don't feel good enough to deserve it. I feel like a fraud. I feel like I can never live up to a lot of you. But I think that's the thing, isn't it? Always striving for perfection because everyone else is so much better, never attaining a level where worthiness is felt or a sense that one is deserving of anything.

To get such support, and such an outpouring of love from you guys is...sort of earth shaking, in a way. When I can't breathe, it always seems like someone here is willing to do it for me.

Thank you.

I get confused when I see how many followers I have. I don't even like to look at the number, because I think that if I do, I'll curse it, and no one will like me anymore. It's a weird paranoia, to not brag or revel on good things, like some sort of monster will rise from the depths and take it all away. I'm so scared of losing what I have, that I'm afraid to acknowledge it's even there. I can face the demons in my life head on, but it's the angels I have a hard time confronting.

So my stepmom is doing better. They got her all stabilized, and they discharged her sometime after I went to bed. She's home, and finally asleep, thank god. They still don't know what's wrong with her, but they haven't known for years, and part of me doubts they ever will. I'm still afraid, but fear seems to be the driving force in my life, lately. Fear of getting fat. Fear of losing everything. Fear of trying and not succeeding. Fear sucks.

Also, Flushed made me the most awesome banner, which I'm now using, and sent me the sweetest email in the world. Which, I read yesterday after I had taken a shot of whiskey to try and get rid of my sick. Whiskey, sleeping pills, and sweet-awesome-letters make for a teary eyed PrettyWreck, and I wound up crying like a drunk holding onto my giant carebear and my dog going, "I have such good friends!" before completely passing out and dreaming about friends riding on barstools like they were horses, and stealing facial hair.

Fever+Alcohol+Medication=AWESOME.

But...yeah....
Thank you so much for all of your support.
You guys are amazing.
Flushed is awesome for making me this banner.
And I don't know what I would do without any of you.

♥ ♥ ♥
To better todays and victorious tomorrows,
PrettyWreck

Comment Replies, Visiting Hours, Dumping Girlfriends

Just got back from visiting the stepmom int he hospital. I lost my shit on a nurse, and wound up pulling the classic Jew move (yes, my family is Jewish) by threatening, politely, legal ramifications if their treatment of her didn't improve. I spoke calmly, and confidently, and apparently, it got the correct reaction. They started paying attention to her. But because my fever is now spiked to 101, and my sore throat is now also a cough, I had to walk around with a sweet ass surgical mask on.

I also dumped girly. I'm now single again. Last night, when I was upset, and told her my stepmom could die, she got angry and said very meanly, "Snap out of it. You're always like this. You're letting life pass you by, and you take out your anger on everyone else." And I said, "...someone I love is DYING," she goes, "And you need to get over it."
So...we had an awesome fight. And thank god it wasn't in person. I would have punched her in the throat.

Now for the comment replies, because I'm super tired, and super sick, and I need sleeping pills and a shot of bourbon to make the sore throat and pain go away, and to sleep through the night. And also, I'm so keeping my surgical mask. Because it's fucking awesome.


Mina Belle:
About methamphetamine and addiction; yes. You become instantly addicted. It was absolutely hell to get off of. The majority of my junior and senior year of high school, I was a heavy user, and became a full blown addict at the end of my senior year. I was kicked out of school after a good friend of mine died, and a lot of other bad things happened, and I went into a full tailspin. If it weren't for my father, I would be dead. I still have permanent damage, hence part of the reason why I have to be so careful with restricting. Once I overdosed, and my body clenched up so tight, that any movement caused the muscles to rip. I ripped one in my neck and shoulder, one in my leg, and one in my side. I also have permanent vascularity issues with my lungs, and now an irregular heartbeat. This was after only a few months of hardcore use. So...it's deadly addictive, and you never get over your addiction. I'll be sober for 5 years on February 24th of this year, and I still have nightmares where I wind up using.



Miss Burton:
I'm not a "better anorexic". I fight with idea of recovery a lot, to the point where I'm considering therapy. My immune system is shoddy because I am malnourished, but also because of hormones. PCOS and PCOD is a common disease seen in people with eating disorders, and can either be had before, or after the development of the disordered behavior. It can cause problems with immune functionality, as well as just regular anemia causing issues with the response capabilities of the white blood cells and antibodies in the human vascular system.
I can't starve like most girls, because of my issues with my health. I often times feel like I'm faking this, or like I'm not worthy of being classified, or like I'm a joke compared to most of you guys. So...I'm not better, and I'm not anything amazing. I'm just...this pathetic little thing, who's managed to take off some weight, which is awesome, but...I'm still just me. The same damaged, confused little thing, with no idea what I'm doing or why, and no idea if I want to get better or not.
Ambien is also a sleeping pill. I have severe insomnia and night terrors. I've been using ambien regularly every night for the past two years, because I've always had a fucked up sleep schedule. I can stay awake for two days straight, and then sleep for fourteen hours. Super sucky.






Uh, there's more comments I wanted to reply to. But...my brain is broken now. Today has been an utter rollercoaster. What, with motherly figure almost biting it, huge fight with my girlfriend and the then dumping (not official yet, because convo ended on an abrupt "Fuck you" after I had made her feel guilty enough to cry), another fight with a friend (who actually fought with me because I refused to let her say anything positive about me, and apparently, knew I needed to fight, so she picked it with me so I'd have someone to scream at who wouldn't take it seriously...she's like, the best fucking friend in the world, and I cried when I realized she had done that for me), and then just...blah. And witht he fever and sore throat and shit?
Yeah.

It's amazing I didn't throw something at a doctor. Or a nurse. I hate nurses. Except for as target practice.
They're like magnets for my shoes. An irresistible force. Their head is gravity, and the chucking of my Osiris is like a pitiful comet, caught in it's magnetic pull. I could no more stop the sun from rising, than I can stop my arm from flinging a fucking skater sneaker at some snide nurses face. Quickest way to get put in restraints, but oh, it is so worth it.....

Failed attempts at positive thinking

Wound up breaking and going to Ihop yesterday. Chocolate chip pancakes, egg substitute, whipped cream, and 1 1/2 sausage links. Didn't eat all of the eggs, and left a few bites of pancakes. But I had been shaking and hadn't been sleeping for almost a week and a half, and my nails had started turning a purple-blue again. I was overcome with like, severe guilt, and so I just cracked.

I was at 117.8. I'm afraid to weigh myself today.

Bah.

---

okay, just weighed self. ONLY A POUND. I expected FULLY to be back in the 120's, but I'm at 118.6. This is after drinking half a bottle of water and eating half of a 100cal ice cream to try and make my throat feel better.

Anyway.




So, I have this bad habit where I chew the inside of my cheeks. And I do it so often, that dead skin will start to build up. So I have to scratch it off sometimes when it gets too much. The other day, after my three hour mega work out from hell at the gym, I did that, but I didn't wash my hands first. Meaning lots of sweaty germs all over my fingers, went into an open cut in my mouth. Now my throat hurts. I knew it was gonna happen, but I'm a douche.




Also, stepmom is in the hospital, which...really is fucking with my head. It's weird, but we didn't get along for a really, really long time, but now she's kind of my best friend. My dad and I really rely on her, and I get scared when she has to go away. She's sick a lot. She has Ciliac disease and soy allergies, and bone spurs in her neck. It took them until she was in her mid to late 50's to figure this out.
She and I only recently started getting along. She came to terms with some of her health and mental disorders, and I came to terms with mine, and we bonded over them. Now she's struggling to break an Adavan addiction and I'm struggling to break an Ambien one. When I go on my Ambien binges, or start getting weird after taking it, she'll be the first person to drag me out of the room and sit down and just talk with me until I feel safe to go to sleep. She's always there for me to listen to me talk when I just need to babble, and she remembers everything I tell her, no matter how unimportant. She's done a lot to help our family, and we hated each other for so long, and now I don't know what I'd do without her. We hated each other because were both messed up, and had no idea how to deal with each other, and things got really volatile and psuedo violent for a while, but now it's just...better. I grew up and in a lot of ways, so did she.

I hate when she's sick. I hate that it's taken this long to start to figure things out. And I'm really afraid that she's not going to get better, or won't come home.

Life is very fragile.

Everything is fragile.

All it takes is one moment to lose your home. Your job. Your income. Your parents. Your stability. Your life. You could be getting ready to go somewhere right now, smiling and laughing, or stressed and anxious, and thinking, "I'll do this later", but there is no later. Do you think those girls or boys who go out with friends and wind up dead realized they were going to die that night? Do you think those people who get murdered or shot went out with a feeling like this was it? THat they ever thought that their lives were going to come to an end, and they'd cease to be a person, and suddenly become a victim? Do you ever look forward and realize that with only a blink, you could go from being a living, breathing, feeling, real YOU, to nothing but a body?

LIfe is fragile. Reality is fragile. Everything is so god damned delicate.

Everyone can go away with just...a breath. A breath is all that separates us from death. A single. Solitary. Breath. With one breath, one decision, one blink, our loved ones could be gone from our lives. Our spouses, our siblings, our parents, our children, our friends. One instant, and suddenly, that person you never thought you'd lose will never be there again, and will never come home again.

That's all it takes for your world to change. All it takes for the world to fall apart.

I hate hospitals. I hate when she has to go there.
I hate realizing how fragile this illusion of life is.

And now I'm late for work.



Needless to say, tomorrow is a gym day, but I doubt I'm going.
I could use the exercise, but I need to see her, and to let my throat heal up.

Stay strong, loves.

♥ PrettyWreck

I hate people.

"I don't think you could afford to lose 15 pounds."

My dad said that to me. I'm tired, I'm aching from working out, and my step mom and him BOTH said that today. I hate those words. "You're skinny enough."

What does that MEAN? No. I'm not. I'm not as skinny as girls I see at the gym who are still considered healthy. Why am I different than them? What the fuck is wrong with them? My thighs still touch. My arms are still big. I still have a lot of fat on me. And this isn't my dysmorphia. This is me talking to a girl who uses a locker near mine, and is my height, who's two sizes smaller than me, and has the perfect body that I want. She's considered HEALTHY. PERFECTLY HEALTHY. Why are people acting different to ME?

My eyes are tired. And I still have laundry to do.

I'm also really, really pissed off now.

And my dad went into my room, and grabbed ambien for my stepmom. And he asked why I'm taking an amphetamine when I used meth before. It's ADD meds for christ's sake.

God.

I also realized that I'm down to 118.2. And my last appointment with my psych, I weighed like, 129 with all my clothes on. And when I stepped on the scale after the gym with all my clothes on, I was down to 122. I'm stressed as hell. Because I want to keep losing, but my psych is going to weigh me. I need to start weighing myself after drinking like, a bottle of water and stuff, just to see if I can bring my weight up enough to not make him suspicious.

I'm so pissed right now.

I wish people would leave me alone. I hate hearing about weight, now. I hate getting everyone's opinions. I don't want to hear it. Why does it matter to them? They just need to shut the fuck up. I don't want to hear anything they have to say on it. Nobody tells you the truth when you ask. They say what you want to hear. Except when they think you could be TOO SKINNY. Because that's considered POLITICALLY CORRECT holy shit.
Fucking TIRED and NOT HAPPY.

I just want to curl up and forget the world. But I have to do laundry. Which means I have to go back out and see them again. I don't want to look at anyone now.

Also, I had some woman glare at me at the bank, and say loud enough for me to hear, but in that, looking-away-snide-remark-thing, "Stupid skinny bitch". Which made me look around and wonder who the fuck she was talking about, and when I realized she meant me, I sort of wanted ot hug her. Now I just want to hit her. HOw would she like if I randomly burst out with, "Dumb fat whore" in her direction?

PEOPLE LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE ABOUT MY BODY AND MY WEIGHT.
FUCK YOU, FUCK YOUR OPINIONS, AND SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT IT. EVERYONE HAS THEIR OWN STORIES AND THEIR OWN REASONS, AND JUST BECAUSE I LOOK DIFFERENT FROM YOU OR BECAUSE I STILL WANT TO GO FARTHER AND NOT SETTLE ON "GOOD ENOUGH" DOESN'T GIVE YOU FREE GOD DAMNED REIGN TO MAKE SNIDE FUCKING COMMENTS.

I don't judge you on your weight, or tell you what you should or should not be.
SO DON'T DO IT TO ME.
OBESITY IS MORE DEADLY THAN BEING UNDERWEIGHT.
SO FUCK YOU.
FUCK YOUR OPINIONS.
I'M AIMING FOR A HEALTHY WEIGHT STILL
SO LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!

Goals for New Years

• Get off graveyards
• Socialize more
• Get a better job
• Spend less time on the internet (current time: near 8 hours a day if not more. Ideal time: max of 4 hours)
• Start regularly attending the gym
• Reconnect with old friends
• Get over social anxiety and start making friends again. Potentially seek a romantic relationship.
• Get off ambien
• Become a personal trainer
• Lose last 20-23lb's (goal weight between 97-103lbs depending on self when goal is reached)
• Move out of my parents house
• Never force myself to throw up (with exception of perhaps severe nausea brought on by stomach flu/food poisoning--I have a hard time throwing up in some of those cases).
• Get taxes done on time
• Go out with friends at least twice a month (currently, I see them every few months)
• Return to school full time.
• Bring semester GPA's back up to 3.5 or higher.
• Stop binging near bed time.




So far, I've been offered a chance to switch shifts (so I'd work from 2pm-10pm, instead of 10pm-6am), I've spent this first weekend with one friend, and plan Saturday night to go to a bar with another. I'm about to head to the gym, and haven't spent more than three hours on the internet today.

Also, when I was washing my face just a minute ago, I stepped on the scale,a nd was down to 119.6 o.o! I was 120.8 when I woke up. So I'm going to go to the gym, and solidify this number, since I know near the last week to two weeks of the month, I'm going to be struggling, thanks to my period.

So I want to be to my original goal (103) by April of '10, meaning I need to lose a little under 4.5lbs a month. I think I can, I think I can!

Well, this is a quick post. I have to head out ot the gym, before those irritating new years resolution whores find their way in. If i have to see one more dumb slut in their cashmere sweaters, or listen to obese middle aged women talk loudly about their sex life and say they're going to be "SO SKINNY IN A FEW MONTHS IF WE KEEP WORKING THIS HARD--hey, do you wanna go get Starbucks after this?!" then I'm going to throw my weight at someone's head.

Good luck, girlies. I'll talk to you all soon!



And thank you SO FREAKING MUCH for all your comments on my 2009 before/after photos! I was actually super proud of them, which is WEIRD for me to be HAPPY with my appearance. I have a LOT of work to do, but to see how much of a difference there was made me feel like last year I actually accomplished something, and you guys had me grinning ALL FREAKING DAY.
I promise I will reply to your comments on there (especially the questions) very soon!

♥ I LOVE YOU ALL LIKE WOAH ♥

PrettyWreck