I’m failing (at getting a job) and it’s eating away at me quicker than I am able to realize.

So I just keep telling myself I want to weigh 110.
I weigh almost 15 more pounds than I did at this point last year.
FIFTEEN.
What the hell.
In this moment, I feel huge.
In this moment, I want a quick, fake, hollywood, get-the-weight-off-by the weekend diet.
I want to pretend I know nothing, and just let it fly.
All this, because I’m failing and I can’t stand it.

Why does arithmetic become my friend in times of hardship? My focus just wants to go all to the numbers. And I’m hiding this post because I don’t want anyone else to think I’m struggling. There’s some sort of failure in others knowing.

When my attention turns to my weight, I know it’s for some sort of reason but I’d rather not deal with it. And that’s real bad.

I want 110. I always think life will be better whenever I get there. And yet, I also know it doesn’t really. It makes me some sort of crazy.

…110…

I am having a little bit of a panic attack right now. Where is my support? I’m so afraid of letting people down I can’t even ask for a little assistance when I KNOW it would help.

110.