It's not her fault - at all.
I was having a good day, considering it's Monday and most of my Mondays are bad because of the instability of the weekend. But it was going all right. I was being relatively productive at work, and looking forward to going home.
Andrea confirmed something I already knew. When I was putting laundry away last night I noticed my size 29 jeans were there. I can't wear them anymore, I'm too fat - which means Andrea wears them. Which means she is smaller than me, which means I am fat.
I'm so proud of her, she has been working so hard on and off to try to lose weight and like her body better. But this has left me feeling horribly defeated. Even though I already knew it was happening.
I was trying to eat healthy, and exercising; cut out most sugars. I thought I was doing well. Weighed myself - gained weight. Another week went by, eating well etc; gained more weight. In total - in 4 weeks, I gained 10lbs. What's the point? I try and I fail. I have failed my body and I am resigned to fat. Disgusting gross fat. I hate the way I look.
I wish I could be one of those girls who could embrace their size, show it off, be proud of everything their body's have done. But that's not me. I was 110lbs. I did like the way I looked at one point. While I figured that being 100lbs wouldn't last I guessed that given my bone structure and what not 120lbs was my ideal normal size and that if I kept things normal I'd stay 120lbs. I was 120...went on meds..went to 130...got depressed, changed meds...140...150....160....165...started exercising...175. Im destined to be fat. Destined to be large. Destined to hate myself.
At least before when I was fat and hated myself I had my head. I knew I was intelligent, knew I was quick witted, knew I was funny, knew all these things. I felt strong, and competent - like I could always make it on my own. I am now a broken shell of what I once was. I am no longer intelligent - the meds, the bipolar - everything else has made all my thoughts foggy. Most jokes offend me, and I don't like being the butt of everyone's jokes like I was before. I am sensitive, and I cry all the time. I am weak, and people are afraid of my emotions. Afraid of me getting overwhelmed.
I am broken. I am fat. I hate myself.
I'm tired of hating myself. I am tired of trying things: all the different meds, therapies etc and having them fail, having me be reliant on something synthetic in order to make me function at even base level. I'm tired of trying to better my physique and my body and being shot down by lack of progress and weight gain.
All I do is fail, and frankly - I'm tired of trying.