Confusion and corpulence

Sorry I've been so out of action recently :/ I feel really shitty about not updating, but things have just been really, really shit as of late and to be honest it's nothing worth commenting on. Basically my whole life is one big whirlwind of constant stress and it never seems to end. My body and the amount I'm eating is just abominable right now. I am actually far too ashamed to post the number on here as I haven't hit such a high weight in ages, but let's just say it's closer to the 150s than the 140s, and far too close for comfort. I would seriously give anything to be 144 at this point, I think I could even stop at 140 or something if I never had to go near 150 again. I also realised that I was exactly the same weight as I am now, this time last year. It's horrible and disgusting and pathetic and I hate it. I want to be out of this body and in a new one. It's not working for me. I've tried to find peace with this figure but everything's just... too much. My hips are too wide and bulky, my stomach and thighs too soft and round, my arms too blubby, my face too full. I only look good in a handful of clothes and photographs now. I get stressed when I go out thinking someone could take a really unflattering picture of me and tag it before I can get rid of any evidence that I am actually FAT contrary to what everyone else thinks. Fat fat fat fat fat. It's not even just about my body anymore, it's about my state of mind and how greedy I seem to have become. At least when I was starving myself I could comfort myself with the knowledge that I had some sort of superior power in my exertion of will, that I was elevated over other people of the same weight who ate whatever they wanted. That sounds incredibly bitchy but we all know, better than anyone, how controlling your food intake can quickly lead to a sense of superiority over other, 'lesser' mortals who NEED 2,000 calories a day to keep going. Anyway, the point is that now, I have nothing to feel superior about. I'm eating like a normal girl who doesn't concern herself with calories or the scales or even how many carbs she's consuming. I'm dressing the way I did when I was thirteen - without much style, and shunning any kind of attention from outsiders. No long legs on show; I cover those up in baggy bootcut jeans a size too big for me. My waist, breasts, hips, arms? Hidden in my huge sheepskin coat that I wear everywhere now, not just because it's freezing outside but because when I'm walking around, I don't want to have to look down and be forced to see my fat wobbling about as I move.

Two things have become apparent to me in the past fortnight. One, I do not have the metabolism I did when I was fifteen, obviously, otherwise I wouldn't be nearly 11 stone right now. (Barf.) Two, I am fucking wasting myself. Arrogance interlude: I know I'm an attractive human being. I know this isn't a delusion. I can tell I'm attractive by the way other people respond to me, the attention I get from both men and women I come into contact with, and the fleeting morsels of truth I get from looking in the mirror sometimes. But I am seriously wasting what I could have. I could be 125 lbs right now, walking around in tank tops under cute cardigans over skinny jeans, with a beautiful haircut just the way I wanted it, a coat that didn't make me look like a marshmallow, a pair of pretty day heels that made me look confident and sexy and tall and maybe a bit scary but that would be cool because I'd have the attitude to go with it. My sister sees when I complain about my appearance and she tells me I just need to be myself. I need to stop trying to me something I'm not. But this is the thing. How the fuck am I meant to feel like 'myself' when I can't even match my outside to my inner identity? I can't even look at myself from certain angles in the mirror anymore. I can't fit my size 12 jeans which leads me to believe I've gone up an entire size, but that can't really be possible, can it? If it is, then I'm actually disgusting.

I don't really know what to do anymore. I want to say 'fuck this shit, I'm giving up'. But I kind of have given up, and that's the problem. I haven't dieted in so long, or even properly tried to diet. I don't even know if I want to anymore. But then, if I keep eating this amount and maintaining this dreadful weight, how will I ever live with myself? I know within myself that I won't be truly happy until I can freely express myself, stylistically, aesthetically, interpersonally. I cannot behave or speak or dress the way I want to, all because I'm in a body that feels uncomfortable and unnatural. It's truly awful.

Alfie's back on the 1st of December, which means I have 13 freaking days to slap myself into shape. I know it sounds stupid and like I'm doing it for some guy, but it's really not like that. We've been talking so much lately, it's kind of flirty and friendly at the same time. I don't know whether or not we'll go 'back there', but I'd like to think at least he'll see me this Christmas and think I look pretty. I'd like to be in the 130s by the time he gets back. I don't know, it's an idea. All I know is that I need things to change. Soon would be nice, Santa.