"Razors pain you, rivers are damp, acid stains you, drugs cause cramps, gun aren't lawful, nooses give, gas smells awful, you might as well live."
I don't know if I'm happy, but I don't feel sad. I feel guilty, for not treating my body like a temple. For not loving every inch of it, working it to perfect at every second. Why can't I be one of those girls that are driven, motivated, every second of every day, striving for beautiful, flawless, lovely perfection? Don't I want it just as bad?
Or is this all just a game to me?
It hurts to ask such a question. It hurts to ponder, how dedicated am I, really?
Because I want to get defensive - yell at myself - scream YES! OF COURSE I WANT IT!
But am I trying hard enough? Those minutes, these minutes, I could be doing crunches.
I could be dancing, running, jumping, something, anything to burn off this cancerous FAT.
I hate that I am beginning to remind myself of a not-so long forgotten friend, who was classified by her doctors as "Morbidly Obese". I've never had to face such a diagnosis. Depressed, anxious, lactose intolerant and apathetic, yes. Obese? No. But I digress.
She complained about nothing else as much as she did her weight. OH! How BADLY she wanted to be THIN! What did she even know about thin? She thought I was thin. She thought that even though my thighs bulged and touched between my legs, and my arms had all that saggy flesh hanging from them, I was thin. Somehow, despite all of that, in her mind's eye I was on the same level as Angelina Jolie.
Most people don't know thin like we do.
But that's not my point either. My point is that despite how much she "wanted to be thin" she never actually DID anything about it. From time to time she would pretend to. From time to time she would buy a workout DVD and have some celery for a snack. She would blame everything short of the alignment of the cosmos for the weight not moving (and only getting worse).
Do I want to be her? I ask myself all the time. It may sound cruel but I promise you ladies, she put me through a lot of awful things and we are no longer friends, so I feel no guilt in thinking about her in such a way.
Still, do I? Do I want to start coming up with excuses? Do I want to start thinking I AM thin, after all? That I don't need to lose weight? Do I want to be content? Sometimes I think I could be. I could give this up, couldn't I? I could, but why would I? Why on earth would anyone chose to be fat?
Things have got to change. Things such as my stomach, my thighs, my ass, my arms, my chubby cheeks. Things have got to get better.
Or else I'm going to cringe at every photo taken at every party. I'm never going to wear those things I yearn for - frilly, lovely lingerie and pleated micro-mini skirts; latex corsets and stockings with garter belts - and look good in them.
It's time to start taking some drastic steps. It's time to stop eating freely. It's time to remember how dedicated I use to be. It's time to carry around thinspo in my pocket and sing Ana songs in my head when I'm hungry. It's time to work out until I can literally see the fat MELTING OFF OF ME!!!
It's time ladies. Enough of this fucking around.
Enough of saying, "Some day I'll be in shape... Some day I'll control what I eat..."
And I can't neglect the rest of me either.
Let's not just get thin - Let's get PRETTY.
I'm going to moisturize my skin constantly. I'm going to pamper my skin as if it were a baby's. No more absentmindedly touching my face and causing break outs. No more itching at dry skin till it bleeds.
I may not be a model, but I can learn to treat my body like it is one.
I don't worship anyone or anything but MYSELF.
So I need to start acting like it.
Because I am AWARE.
Beautifully, painfully aware of what it takes to look like what I want.
I am aware in the ways most people aren't. I have the eye of a critic and I know I need to improve. And I'm not going to settle for less.
LETS FUCKIN DO THIS!!