I have fornicated with your family.

I feel like I should be sanitizing myself religiously.

For those of you expressing concern, I thank you. I've recently moved, and I have no computer. I'm in the process of trying to rent one until my baby returns from repairs, and my only access is my roomates desktop which currently possesses a most awkward keyboard, or my parents computer.

As for a little update on life, I will try and be quick, as the woman who's home I currently rent a room in does not maintain a very tidy household, and as this keyboard is in her personal quarters, I am vaguely perturbed by the idea of what may be on these keys, and when the last time is she washed her own hands....

Boy and I have been going fairly steady, and he has met my parents. We're planning a vacation together in October. I've finally finished moving out of my house as of last night, and spent my first night in my new place. I've a pretty vicious restrictive phase again, and dropped in the span of three days from 127.8 down to 121.6 this morning. It's taken it's toll, as my body has begun to cramp up and I've started to become moody, exhausted, and overwhelmed. Of course, part of this has to do with the chaos of moving, maintaining two jobs, a boyfriend, a sudden surge in my social life, and just general chaos.

I've also quit my gym job.

I will be done in September. I'm in the process of going into private practice, which I believe will be most beneficial to my future career goals and aspirations.

I've been living off of Atrophex (which I am addicted to), Adderall, and Nutella on toast. There is no more any such thing as bread. Just raw toast.

I managed to get one of my roommates kicked out already.

I'm hoping for one of my friends to move in. A girl who I will call H, who knows about my ED, and is completely nonchalant about it. She's caught me purging before, and just stood there chatting with me as I induced vomiting. She's perky, blond, younger than me, a hookah fiend, and whereas I am a 4, she's a 2, but seems so much smaller. I adore the hell out of her, because I want to be as tiny as her. SHe can go for days on end without touching a morsel of food and her lifeblood is alcohol and her air is the smoke of that flavored tobacco in the three new hookah pipes I possess. When I'm around her, I have no need to think. She's gloriously ditzy. Has an incredible amount of intelligence, but no desire nor need to use it. She tends to spend most of her time simply checking out boys, looking for the next way to have fun, always seeking someone to spend time with and hang out with, and will gladly spend hours coloring, chatting about nonsense, or playing with kids meals toys. We both clean obsessively when we're around each other, and she always makes me laugh and feel hella relaxed. She reminds me of what it's like to be YOUNG, and not some self obsessed, overly "intellectual" thing overwhelmed with the anxieties of day to day life and responsibilities.

I feel like a kid with her, and it makes me happy.

Part of me is sad.

She's dated girls before. She says she's a lesbian when she's drunk.

I doubt we would ever hit it off in a serious long term thing, but I just sort of wish I had started to connect with her before me and Boy, because I've never just had a fun relationship. The sort of thing that's wild and filled with nothing but laughter and an in-the-moment craziness. She's small and I could feel comfortable with her. But I know nothing serious would ever come of it, and I know she's not worth ditching Boy for. It's just me being fickle as always, fretting because fretting is what I do, and I always look for ways to curse myself.

Also, the crazy boy roommate here apparently flipped shit when he saw how I left the bathroom today.

Because there were hairs on the floor.

I didn't SWEEP when I was done getting ready for work.

....because god knows, I gotta take time to sweep off of three hours of sleep, working a double back.

I'm gonna drop kick this guy in the face. All he does is complain about shit. And all I can do is hold my foot to resist the urge to shove it into that sobbing-bitch-hole called his mouth.

He's about to taste toe covered socks.

Damn bastard is the worst stereotype of Jews. Like...I'm a cool Jew. He's the whining, high pitched, New York Jew who can only complain or "kivetch" or however the fuck you spell it, and is always sick, and nothing is ever good enough and likes to say, "OH MY GOD" all the time. That sort of Jew where you're not sure if he's Gay or....well...Jewish.

Either way, both groups PRAY he's not one of them because he's a bad representation of it no matter what group he falls into.

Oh....and did i mention he's homophobic?

Yeah.

Guess what I pulled out and carefully folded with all the reverence due to the stars and stripes?

My rainbow flag.

As he was talking about "some homos" acting like predators against him at the gym.

Sorry.

But he's not hot enough to be butt raped.

He'd be like the dork in gym if he were to go to prison. The last to get picked. Whoever would get to buttrape him would be the low man on the totem poll.

....okay, I could totally go on with the innuendos about anal penetration, polls, holes, totems, your mom, and the ways I fucked her last night, but alas, I think it's time I go. I have to order a movie off of Netflix for boy, then punt a cat across the house because I can.

And it just smacked my dog in the face.

YAY PUSSYPUNTING!

(If you don't know what that is, ask your sister about it, because I played it with her last night. OHBURN)

Also, best picture ever, as taken off of CrazyXangel's blog.

The end

♥

PrettyWreck

Updates

Silence follows with the passing of my laptop.
May we all give a moment's silence in mourning.

Dear Baby, you were a good piece of equipment. Our thoughts are with you. May you find peace in the repair shop you have been sent to, and perhaps be sent back repaired. If this is not the case, then may your replacement live up to the power with which you operated, and the abuse you took through being shoved in backpacks, tossed around a backseat in a speeding car, and downloading insane amounts of random items off the interwebs and having hard drives scrubbed repeatedly after bad proxy servers were loaded, viruses installed, and various porns removed in an attempt of covering tracks before parents touched your glorious keyboard.

Aaaaamen.





I'm on the Mental Diet for my gym job. Very strange. I keep winding up with the band on my left wrist.
You can't think any negative thoughts.
I've been on my period for five days, and collapsed on Thursday after a binge fest like a motherfucker at my server job. Had to be driven home by a friend, and have had a migraine since then. Collapsed again yesterday. And yeah. It's totally hard to keep myself positive through all of that.


And some weird updates. Ok. Lemme try and have this post make a little bit of sense, yeah?

My current weight? Ridiculous. My new phone? Sexy as a motherfucker. HTC MyTouch 3G Slider with T-Mobile. I am almost free of the chains of Verizon.

My current love life....?
....amazing.



I have to say, things have been....surprising, to say the least.



Boy is...different.
I'm not sure how to describe it.
Last post, I know I said I thought he was going to break up with me, and I hoped he did, but...he didn't. And I can't even begin to put into words how relieved I am that it didn't happen.
See...ugh. I don't even know how to explain it.
He knows.
About everything.
My ED. My PTSD diagnosis. I've tried to show him all the ugliest parts of me, and he sees them, and accepts them unwaveringly. I feel safe when I'm around him, uncomfortable, terrified, and just confused.
After that post, we got into a fight that lasted for a week. I said purposefully hurt things with no idea why. I ignored him, stood him up twice, avoided his calls, mocked him in front of people....
...I did terrible things.
I blamed my stress. My job. My life.
I validated it and defended it and put people on my side.
And he waited.
Patient.
When he finally snapped and we fought, I went to see him with a friend, after telling the friend to help me ditch out quick.
I got there...and didn't hug him or touch him. His friends came over. We talked a bit, and I tried to avoid the urge to jump on him, because the friend, H, had just been dumped by her boyfriend and I didn't want her to be uncomfortable. But Boy looked so defeated, sitting there txt'ing, no smile on his face, shoulders slumped. His door was covered in dents, and when I asked about them, he said, "It's the only thing that won't hit back and that I can't hurt when I do hit it." It was like something in me was breaking. He hides nothing and wears his heart on his sleeve. I had already told him over text that all this bad shit had been happening, and used it to justify my avoidance (getting kicked out, doctors appointments, etc.), so he knew there had been drama, and I really didn't want him to see it...but...still....

I wandered into his room when his friends came over. He followed a few minutes later, and I grabbed him and kissed him, trying to keep my mouth closed to cover the taste of the vomit from my purge a few hours earlier (I could NOT track down gum, damn it). We collapsed onto his bed, and I wrapped around him, and almost started crying, shaking, thinking of just how good it felt to be in his arms. He was safe. He was home. He held the back of my head and rolled me on top of him, whispering that he was falling in love with me, and begging me to talk to him, to tell him what was happening, to stay with him and not push him away anymore. I begged him to not leave me, to never make me leave, to let me stay, and to please forgive me....

...we talked. Sat there, curled up, and talked. He said something that made my heart break. Told me that what hurt the most was that I didn't feel comfortable saying when I was hurting. Because he wanted to be a part of my life, not just a piece in it. That he was there to be strong for me when I couldn't. That he wanted to help with my pain, and wanted to stand by me when I was crumbling, and keep me up when I was falling.

He's too damned good for me.
He's so god damned good for me.


Last night we talked for hours. On Thursday, I collapsed at work, and had to be driven home. My boss, CD (the assistant chef at the server job) caught me. He wound up carrying me out to my friends car. I didn't tell Boy the full details, but he found out, and since he doesn't have a car, he told me he felt so damned helpless. Last night, he called me when I woke up at 2am and we talked for hours. With my migraine, in the dark of my room, he got me to tell him things i never say outloud. That I feel dirty and broken. Why I started on my ED. He asked me questions all about it. Asked why I was doing it, about my childhood, my life. I answered everything so honestly. He said, "On Thursday, were you really sick, or were you purging?" It wasn't accusatory. He never accuses me of anything. It was curious. I try to never lie to him, but I said, "I just felt sick." And we left it at that, because I didn't want to admit this current bout of migraine and collapsing aroused from me purging. It's not from starving--I've gained seven pounds. It's from having my period for seven days of hardcore bleeding, but I'm not ready to tell him that.

I told him about being kidnapped. About what happened to me before that. About the suicide attempts, and how I feel sad everytime people say they wish they could go back to being a little kid, because this time in my life right now, despite all the pain, is the happiest i've ever been, because my childhood was hell. He told me about things that had happened to him, and at the end of the night, before bed, he said something that made me almost cry....

"I've dated girls who have had problems or who I thought were strong, but I always knew how things would end with them. You're just...you've told me things that I think if you said more about would make my blood boil, not because it's your fault, but because somebody dared to do that to you. And you know what, Pretty? I'm proud of you. I'm so fucking proud of you for surviving. For having the courage to tell me all of this and to come back to me. I'm so proud of you. And you're not going to push me away. If you are broken, it's not your fault. I think whatever it is that pulled us together did it so I can be the one to fix you. And you know what, baby? I love you. I'm falling so hard and so fast, but for the first time, I'm not scared. I'm excited. I love you, and I'm going to stay by you and get you through this."


I think something in me melted.
I'm so lucky to have found him.

My migraine is now starting to recede. I need to keep packing, because I was supposed to finish moving places, but my parents were cool with letting me put it off while I was busy...you know...being dead. On that first night, THursday, my dad apparently found me slurring in the kitchen, trying to find sugar, before I fell over and he panicked. My bad seizure migraines are coming back, but I think it has to do with 1) an addiction to Atrophex and Adderall, 2) A lack of sleep, 3) The fact that this last period lasted for over a week, and is still going on now.

HOORAH.




Oh, also, my doctor has smuggled me a months worth of antidepressants that are prescribed to patients in top ED clinics. It's very expensive shit, so I'm happy he gave it to me. He finally believed me on my disorder when the new med student took me in to take my weight, and she forgot to zero it out before I stepped off (I have to get weighed stepping on it backwards), and when I saw my weight, I flipped out and started to scream and sob. I wanted to tell the Med student sorry, but I couldn't stop trembling long enough to get the words out.

I'm so fucking obese.






When I was being carried out by my boss from my server job by him and my friend, they both made remarks: "Thank god you're so light."
When he caught me the first time I fell, I could feel his arms shaking.
I'm not that light.

But I guess I made him laugh. He grabbed my ass when I collapsed, and was like, "It's not on purpose."
I guess I looked at him with the most "duh" expression and said, "If you really wanted to grope it, you just had to ask."


We flirt all the time. But he's Boy's friend, and Boy knows that he's my favorite and the only one who really is invited to touch.

I kept joking with Boss the whole time. And my friend.
I had to keep them laughing so they wouldn't make me go to the hospital.

I hate my hormones. My ovaries.
Why couldn't I have collapsed over starving?
Oh...that's right....because I keep EATING. OMNOMNOM.
Purging is easier on antidepressants!
Ironically enough.
No...I collapse because I'm bleeding out of my VAG.
How fragile. How pretty.
(Heed my sarcasm.)

I am loved, and confused as to why.

I thought Boy was going to break up with me, and frankly, I was relieved. Playing the normal heterosexual female is tiring. But then he says that he wasn't trying to. He was nervous about telling me that he thinks I'm "the one".
"The One"?
Well take me to the Matrix and call me Neo!
YEEHAW


.....right. I'm not sure what to say to him. I turned off my phone.

How do you respond to that?
I've tried to be as ugly as possible for him. He's seen my disorder. Gets frustrated at my refusal to give him a picture of me because I hate them. He hears me hate myself all the time. I've even stood him up on a date.
Yet still...I'm The One.
The One.
No pressure there.
Just the singular person he's meant to be with for the rest of eternity.
ANd I still can't get over the lack of tits he has.
I still see him as a temporary fling that I'll recover from.

Right.

Hoorah.





Hung out with a girl from work today.
And her boyfriend.
I realized part way through that...she had told him about me.
In depth.

She told him things I had said. That I was "freaking amazing". He knew stories of times when I had exploded at our new boss at the gym. Had heard about the weird shit I'd said to her. She was laughing about the way I first said hello, with a joke that was, "You know how you are what you eat? (Cups bellybutton and poofs out stomach) BAGEL!" She was like, "She has NO insecurity. Isn't she just amazing?" She let me borrow her swimsuit and we went into the pool. Watched Invader Zim. And her friends? Knew about me.
Like...I had something to live up to.
They invited me out either tomorrow or this weekend.



My friend, KJ we'll call her, who I've known since high school....her boyfriend P keeps trying to get me to hang out with him. Says he misses me.
V, my ex girl I dated for a while, says she misses me and now that we're friends again, remembers why she loved me.

KG, another girl I was friends with, messaged me out of the blue about how much she misses me...

...it's like the universe is trying to tell me that I'm cared about. I've given up trying to please everyone, and suddenly....suddenly I have clients hugging me. I have people buying sessions out of nowhere. I have constant reminders that I'm somehow special, even though I'm not.

And the only thing I'm hung up on is that I got yelled at at work.
Like that's all that matters.
I feel like a failure for fucking up. For not being good enough. For being bad. For being terrible.
BIg boss won't be there tomorrow.
I just feel like a fool there right now.
Because I showed up at exactly the appointment time, and wasn't wearing my work shirt. And I know it's not allowed, but fuck it, I was rushed. C, one of the bosses, said it shows that I don't care, and that the client isn't important.
Which is exactly why she hugged me at the end of the session and thanked me repeatedly for being the "first person to have her best interest in mind".
For being someone who's "passionate, caring, and honest".
Yup.
Right.
I'm totally not good with my clients.
I showed up at exactly 1 for a 1pm appointment and had to rush to get the shit together because they TOOK MY DESK AWAY FROM ME so all my prepared paperwork was fucked up, and that was my one flaw.
I drive one of my clients home every session.
I take calls at 2am from others who are depressed.

I've taken cold medicine to one when she was laid up sick.

BUt of course, my lack of being twenty minutes early....? Is evidence that
I
Don't
Give
A
Shit.

Hoorah.

That's me.
Callous as can be.
Not that I care at all. I'm completely selfish. Love me and don't care about them. Totally into myself. Overflowing with ego and self righteousness. There's me, treating clients like they're just for the money, and it's wasting my time to give them any session because I"m not on time, regardless of the fact that I'll do sessions for free when they're broke, or that I'll do home calls and pick up prescriptions for them. A total asshole.

Yup.

He has some point, to be honest. I'm a failure for punctuality. And I did stand up a client once when I was too worn out to move or get out of bed.
But...I just have blood poisoning right now.
And still haven't had a day off.
And am puking.
And shaking.
Cold sweats.
Surviving off of diet pills and a good 13 hours of sleep a night and still exhausted....
....my punctuality is totally my major problem.

Fuck them.
I need to go into private contracting as a trainer.

My integrity can't handle this job much longer. Not with the diet pills they make me peddle, or the way I have to sell training as if someone is INADEQUATE and NEEDS IT. I can't play on peoples insecurities like that. I want to make them better, and make them healthier. I don't want people to wind up like me.

Assholes.
Sorry.
Rant over now.






Why do I have so much good and positive, and yet the negative still cripples me so?
I don't think the Prozac is working.

I am not your fucking cautionary tale....

Let's get something clear.
I am no god damned cautionary tale.

I posed a question to myself, when I thought about the fact that the symptoms I had mere weeks ago, I realized, were all those of a heart attack brought about by lack of food and overdose of stimulants.
The aching jaw, the pain in the sternum and gut, the dizziness and shortness of breath...
...I looked in the mirror at my fat, flotsam like body, and demanded, "Would you rather be alive or thin? Do you want to live? Or do you want to be thin?"


....and the answer was so fucking obvious.
There is no life without thinness.
There is no purpose without perfection.

I am fat.
I am a fucking whale.
And I take no pride on my obesity. My waist is almost back up to 26 inches, my arms jiggle, my stomach is bloated, and I've exceeded 3500 calories a day for three days.
I am a shame to my own eating disorder.
But I am not a shame to myself.
I am no cautionary tale.
I am no promotion of this disease.
I am me.
I binge and purge, starve and eat like the most extreme of seasons.
I get excited at the thought that I might be dying.
I take stimulants enough to kill most folk, and relish in the realization that I'm fading.
Not because of any sort of ideals of divinity, but I am simply that fucking depressed and not able to carry through on my desire to just straight out off myself.
I'm not worthy of suicide.
I'm not thin enough yet.

I can't give up yet, because I'm not worthy of death.
Death is the reward, and to die before I have fully decayed would be to fail.



You see, we all die at some point.
And I'm going to die in pursuit of what I love.
Perfection.



I will never leave this behind.
I don't ever want to recover.
I'm angry and hateful at me, and I've realized I've been this way since I was a little kid. No therapy nor pharmaceuticals have ever helped. The only thing that helps is the driven, pointed thinking of this disorder, and the rage and sense of purpose against myself that it gives me.

I will achieve my goals of perfection.
And I am going to die in the process.

When it happens, don't take me as a story of why it shouldn't be done. Don't use me for your stupid inspiration for recovery or relapse.
I'm not your tool. I'm not here to move you. To change you.
I'm not here to shatter your life or help you rebuild it.
Let me be just me.
Take just me.
What I am.
A self destructive little know it all with an outward superiority complex, rage issues, and no self esteem.
A girl with no acceptance of herself who loves the feel of petting the flap at the back of her throat to bring up bite by bite what she eats.
An insomniac who hurts herself when she sleeps.
A rage filled being often too tired to move, but too hyped up on stimulants and amphetamine to sleep.

A person.
Burning.
Dying.
Laughing and crying and screaming the whole time.

Andorgynous internally and outwardly feminine.

I am the Moth plummeting into the lanterns flame.
Cackling as I sizzle and pop.

Watch.
Me.
Go.

Reverse Orgasms.

I was 124 this morning.
I keep telling myself it's my period waiting to start. But that doesn't make it better.
My appetite has sky rocketed. I just ate four slices of pizza, five chicken kickers, and half a large brownie. On top of the two slices of 50 cal toast with full fat butter and scrambled eggs I've eaten today.


Then I went and paid homage to Mia.




It's funny.
Sometimes, I wake up.

I'll be standing over the toilet. My fingers shoved down my throat. And I'm still me. I stop. Shaking my head like a dog. Make weird noises and stretch mouth as I prepare myself for another round of self-induced-gagging, and make odd comments to the graffiti on the walls. "Yeah, bitch, just like sucking your mom's dick!"
Then I dab at my face as delicately as I was taught with a rolled up wad of toilet paper, my pinky sticking out as my mother taught me in my etiquette lessons, before carefully folding the toilet paper, dabbing off the sputum from my finger, and then delving it back into my esophagus.
And then, as I'm stroking that flap of skin, making strange faces as I try to avoid scratching that delicate flesh with my nail....I stop, and think, "What in the hell am I doing?"
Then it hits.
The vomit comes.
Small mouthfuls at a time.
And I know what I'm doing.
But I don't process it.
It's an action that has no thought. It just is. I can't consider it. Can't really question it. If I do, the guilt hits, and when the guilt comes, so, too, comes the anxiety, and the anxiety brings with it food, and terrible self hatred, and eventually, cradling another bottle of store-bought sleeping pills to my breast.

I wonder what people would think if they knew.
Then I don't wonder anything at all.
I just do it.
It makes the anxiety better for a little bit.

I stop. Not when it's all out, but because I tell myself to. The toilet is full, my throat is aching. I think, "If I stop before it's all out, then it's not laziness. It's control. I start when I want, end when I want." Just like I first thought when I stopped eating.
"It's not anorexia, or an eating disorder. It's an experiment. I can stop whenever I want."

Or like I tell myself from time to time.
"I can eat normal whenever I want to. I just don't want to, yet."




....sweet denial. How you taste of salt and vinegar and bile on my tongue, wrapping me up in the warmth of your lies.




I'm so tired.




I want to go purge more.
But mostly
I just want to go to sleep.

homnomnom...OINKOINK

Well, it was bound to happen at some point, wasn't it?
The inevitable post-starvation OMNOMNOM myself into oblivion.
That was yesterday.

Today, I had a full out panic attack when faced with a taco. And didn't eat all of it. And am currently very pleased with having not eaten a lot, but still managing to feel full. Only because I'm drinking that much diet soda and water.



My neck hurts and I'm tired.
Whine whine whine, I hate work, three jobs sucks, etc. etc., read through my last five posts and it's all reiterations of the same trite bullshit of how much I hate my security job and aches and pains and blah blah blah blahblahblah cocks blah blah blah weightloss, blah blah blah, your mom.


Same shit, different day.



ADHD is a federally recognized disability.
I had to walk out of a movie today for my Health Card, and you're not supposed to. Sitting became painful. And not because I was freshly shagged (which I'm not, sadly), but only because I had to sit still, and it wasn't working. My page, in the first ten minutes, was covered with sketches of faces and "SHAMWOW" written all over the back, and I couldn't stop twitching. When I walked out, the woman asked what was going on, and I told her I'd try again later, but this was my third time in the class. She asked why, I showed her the meds...she told me to take a breather and go back in when I was ready, because, "They have to make allotments for people with disabilities", and I think I must have looked at her like she was NUTS.


But it's okay! I finally got through my class.






I'm at 123.6 from 120. Because I'm a fat fat girl.
Time to get back down, though.
Aiming for 117 this time.
I can do it.
Because I rock.
And I fucked your mom.
(Not really....)
(....or did I? Oooooh, mysterious.....)






I've run out of words now!
OKBAI!

♥
PrettyWreck

......woah o.o

...fifteen unapproved comments in the space of like...an hour?
I'm not sure who linked to me, but whoever did, I fucking love you. Thank you to everyone for all the love. You guys rock my literal pants off.
No joke. I'm now sitting here sans trousers.
(Not really. I have them on still. But I wish I could rip them off....I'm at my job I'm close to quitting, so it's really hard to RESIST that temptation, too!)



I think I'm turning bullimic.
I broke my vow and purged in a public facility. Two times in two days. I've lost almost 7 pounds these past 7 days, but as many of you like me out there know, almost seven is not yet seven, and fifty still wouldn't even be good enough. I've come to the firm conclusion that I don't think I'll ever be done in my own mind. There will always be flaws and faults, and I'll just have to keep going until something happens to make me stop.


To those of you reading this considering getting into the disorder, or returning from your recovery, take this as your message to stop.
A friend of mine on another site died from this fairly recently. And I find myself toeing the same line she did. She collapsed while running, and injured her head, falling into a coma before she finally perished. Only a year older than me.
I've collapsed--not quite fainted--three times.


This is life. This is life slowly slipping.
I hope you enjoy watching me plummet. I enjoy sharing my fall.
Live vicariously through me, but do not repeat these mistakes. I am an entertainer, here to martyr myself for your amusement.





Part of me feels slightly bitter, though I think that's the jalapeno cheese I just regurgitated. I don't feel anymore depressed. The Prozac my shrink gave me was supposed to help control the impulses to binge and purge, but in fact, it only makes it easier to starve, and I feel much more calm when I throw up. My fingers pet that flap of flesh that separates lungs from gullet, and the food comes up like a gentle tide from my mouth. I've even stopped freaking out when a little bit of the toilet water splatters on my face. The sensation of winning by losing is so much more precious to me.





I went shopping.
Pulled on a pair of size 3's. They fit loosely.
Took a size 2 dress, just for a bit of fun, to see how far off I was from fitting. Took a size 4, which is my normal.



The 4 slipped off my shoulders.
The 2 fit me like a charm.

I bought it.
I can't afford it. But I think I would have died if I didn't walk out right then with that dress.

Up close and personal with a set of the most hideous calves you've ever seen rocked in a little black dress:

Front view of the nastiest tits to ever exist on a 23 year old body:

I got it for my brothers wedding, technically. And the woman who was running the dressing room said it looked "sexy". I plan to wear a white lace cami under it, to hide the tits, and also the nastiness of the bra and gross underarms and flabby skin on the side.


Yuck.
How is it that I'm so large, and yet wear something that's a size 2? I see that I'm getting tinier, but it's like...I don't exactly know how to word it....

....like taking me, and shrinking me, but...keeping the fat?
Like...it's still there. The shapes and rolls and nastiness. They're all still there.
But they're just...smaller versions now.
I wish I could lose weight in my nose.
It's gigantic.
It and my ears speak volumes to my Jewish and....uhm...elephant? heritage? I don't know. I know the nose is my Jewish side. The ears must be because someone in my families past bumped uglies with Dumbo. Can't think of anything else.


I love you all. Have my babies.
Wish me luck.
I was 120 this morning.
I want to be down to 119 by tomorrow. Or 119.something. Just so long as I see that drop to under 120, but I doubt it. I ate too much, and didn't throw it all up, because I fail like that.


♥
PrettyWreck