Two Hundred Sixteen

I am so frustrated… with myself. I still look at myself and hate it. All of it. I am still freakin fat and ugly and everything about me sucks. I am really kind of at my whit’s end. I always blamed all of my insecurities on being fat, so when I would get super down on myself, like now, I would say ” Well once you lose weight everything will be great.” No. It’s not like that. I am still not the size I want to be. My arms are still massive. My boobs are still small. My face is still ugly. My legs are still manly. And I am still stuck in a self loathing abyss of inferiority. It’s an ongoing war and it makes me pissed off. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to enjoy things fully because I am always focusing on how I look. Like yesterday, I watched myself walk up to a building in the reflection of the glass door and I wanted to cry. I was wearing a tank top and I could see how fucking gigantic my arms were. Ugh. I could have just died right then. I wanted to. Today isn’t better. I am just mad and sad and being sorry for myself, I suppose. Still sucks, though. Alright, gotta go work now. Fuckin faanntastic.


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