EVERY single girl says this- unless they’re tiny already.
But I want to be skinny. I’m not happy. I want to be skinny because I am just unsatisfied with my body in every way as of now and it is honestly driving me insane.
I’ve said on multiple occasions that I am going to diet and work out but I never pull through. Now that I have this blog, I am going to do it. I WILL DO IT. I need to psyche myself into it but it WILL happen.
It WILL. I am going to prove myself wrong. I can. I can. I can. I can. I can. I can. I can. I can. I can. I can. I can. I can. I can. I can. I can. I can. I can. I can. I can.
Think that’s enough?
I can. I can. I can. I can. I can.
I hope so.
As I sit on my couch, freshly awake at 2:30, I begin to remember that my mother told me to call her when I was ready to go to the pool an hour ago.
I am considering not going to call her. I’m so fucking lazy and I know I’m going to regret this so very much later on today when my family comes home all tan and tired and I still remain on the couch, watching nickelodeon and eating shitty foods.
Speaking of which, I’m hungry. WHERE WHERE WHERE is the food? UGH. WHY CAN’T I BE WHO I WANT TO BE? I want to stop eating. I’m a fucking failure.
So my mother is currently plunging her head into the toilet, possibly looking for solace in all the wrong places. She went out drinking tonight with our neighbor while I babysat my brother, and my neighbor’s two children for twenty dollars from 7 to 12. My mother never gets to go out and have a good time, therefore I was more than happy to oblige.
I mean, the way I was asked to do it was a bit more forward and pushy than I’d have liked (the neighbor asked me in front of her three year old daughter, in which case I could NEVER refuse) but I didn’t care very much at all, seeing as I love the little girl as if she were my cousin, and her older brother (about 12 years old) is the sweetest kid in the universe. The point is;
My dad drinks. Not my mom. And it’s not fair to think about it like this but I have trouble handling both emotionally, and for them both to be drunk at the same time is confusing and exhausting.
But my dad ISN’T drunk. He’s nice right now. The kind of nice that regular kids don’t understand. The kind of nice that when he asks me if I want a cup of juice, I tear up because he hasn’t ever done something that considerate for no reason before.
That kind of nice.
And as my mom pukes in the toilet and slurs her words, and my father offers me a late night snack in a pleasant tone of voice, I sit here in utter confusion.
