Thursday, December 2, 2010

Fat talk

So I finally got to buying myself a bathroom scale.
And this:

It basically promises miracles such as making stretch marks disappear. It'd better. Or there will be nervous breakdown #2. You guys, I'm growing OLD. And it depresses me.

Age is such a monstrous thing that shows its arrival through bodily changes like stretch marks, cellulite, decreasing metaboism, etc. Like as if I don't have enough issues with my body image already.

Someone needs to kill me by the age of 25. 22 is already proving to be really difficult to get by, self esteem wise.


Anyway, my point is, I stepped on the scale.

And it told me that I'd turned into...


I don't know when this happened, or what could have caused it, maybe it's the weather, maybe it's water retention, maybe, maybe it's because I've actually been EATING.

But this is me now.

All doctors do is lie to you about how you can be happy once you put food in your mouth and actually swallow without purging. I should have known better.

And dieticians? They're even more deranged than the doctors.

I remember getting into a big fight with mine because she insisted I ate 3 meals, and TWO snacks. Sorry but that's practically like 5 meals in a day not including dearest Ensure Plus.



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