Where is my head at?

I have consumed various things this past week and a half that were definitely considered unsafe foods. I never counted exact calories. I never threw up. I wanted to a handful of times. I intentionally restricted a few times. But I did not count the calories. I weighed myself too much, and let myself think about it too much.

Friday morning I woke up and told myself I am going to achieve greatness. I worked all day and I am pretty damn sure I achieved plenty of greatness. Sometimes work is draining because patients are often negative and depressed or unmotivated, but, it seems, if you can put off really positive, motivated vibes it has this osmosis effect on the patients.

On the way home (a lot of thinking happens on the way home now since work is 30-some minutes away) Sunday, I decided I would go to Ben’s pool party that night. I decided I would get in the pool. This has significance, I swear. It was the difference between fun, and not having fun. Fun would include having enough confidence to bare all in a bikini AND not worry about what everyone else was thinking about my body. Because who spends time analyzing my body (besides myself) anyway? So not only did I succeed in the aforementioned, I was also the first girl to go in. It was typical…all the girls kind of eying each other wondering if the other girls were going to dawn their bathing suits and waiting for someone to be the brave soul to do so. So I did. I convinced myself I looked fine. In a bathing suit. I just said, fuck it. However, my confidence faded after this one girl joined us. She was super skinny. Like, 100 pounds tiny. I don’t know why I want to look like that so damn badly, guys do not even like that. Not that this confidence fading thought was so intruding that I couldn’t continue to display confidence. I am just stating that it was there. The rest of the night. Wanting to look like her.

I was looking through pictures and I hate how I was so thin and I know at the time of those pictures I thought I was a whale. While flipping through the pictures, I kept thinking, I was crazy. How could I possibly have thought I was so huge when in fact … I looked good. I hate that even though I weigh more now then I did then, I wear the same jean size (granted a bit tighter) and I wonder if, in five or ten years I will look back at pictures from now and think the same thing only it will be much more awful because I will have wasted my entire young adult life on obsessing about fat that is imaginary.

I am struggling with this. I want to say to myself, Emily, you are beautiful the way you are. Just like I wanted to tell Fiona. She wouldn’t understand, and I wouldn’t believe it. I’ve come close this week, on a few occasions, of thinking like this. Then I follow it with, who are you kidding? Look again, look harder, look at all the fat. You need to work harder. (Heil Hitler!)

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