Sometimes I just don’t feel right.

Without it.

A lot of times, I want it back.

And I’ll tell myself to quiet down: no you don’t, stop thinking like that. You’re fine.

It’s about control. [or something?]

I don’t think I have control, I’m out of control eating whatever I want, running spaciously.

I like to think I have one body and I want it to be the best and healthiest it can be.

But I always fuck it up. I always sway too far to one extreme. I’m fucking it up all the damn time. I am either running 40+ miles a week and barely eating or not running at all and eating what-the-hell-ever. Why does everything have to be so black and white with me? It’s not like I don’t realize it…why is it so easy for me to understand what’s going on but not do anything about it? Is there some sort of stage of denial where one is in denial about denial?

I’d like to hash this out with you but I know it’s too..odd or strange, weird, awkward, nonsensical, weak, … confusing.

What I’m trying to say is that I don’t know what I’m trying to say. So thank god for this journal so no one has to bear through this hellish assortment of my brain.

Damn the 4950925 things the past few days that have triggered all of this.

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