Rant

I feel like I just don't know anymore. Like, what is my life right now? This term has been an utter shit fest. I'm freaking out about Christmas. Am I really going to be able to get enough weight off to feel good about myself when I see my father on the 8th? That's a big anxiety. I can't handle the comments. Losing weight isn't for them, it's for me - a protective, waterproof agent, there purely so that any criticism can just slide right off. It's a preventive measure, damage control. My own self-loathing at this weight bounces right off me and onto them, and they pick up on it, and make comments. And then I'm going to freaking Los Angeles for Christmas. Where my actress sister now works in the coolest vintage clothing store, and where I will be expected to parade around in the streets of Melrose in skimpy summer outfits. God, I just hate it all with a passion. My plan is to ditch the 6 pounds that have me rooted in the 170s by Wednesday. Yes, Wednesday. Four days away. If it takes laxatives, and barely eating, and feeling hungry all the time, so be it. I'm already grouchy as hell.