I haven't been doing too well. I'm sure none of that has gotten through my internet black-out. Fuck the internet.
I weighed 140.5 pounds today. That is a lot of pounds. My 30" pants do not feel loose. No, not at all, in fact they feel tight-ish. I know I'm fat, I hate it. Sometimes it's all I can think about. I used to have muscle, on my arms and chest, when I could work out. But, if you know the pattern, if you do, you know that at some point all energy ceases and I stopped working out. It was too much
work, so I stopped. All my energy went away. Gone.
You know one of my memories, one of those key points that play over-and-over in my head, is this; I was dating Jennifer, seems like so long ago, and I had gone through a three month binge. Three months of eating from vending machines. Eating candy, all I ate was candy. Candy for my hungover breakfast, candy for my lunch, dinner was still my green beans and hamburger, but 2000 calories of breakfast and lunch I had previously skipped ruined that. I was up to 150 pounds. A bit over 150 actually, telling myself every morning, after stepping off the scale, that it was all ok. It's ok, because this shit doesn't matter.
Why shouldn't Jennifer have known? I mean I asked her, that's what I did, I said, because I knew, "I'm getting fat." And I got exactly what I wanted, her, nodding, "yeah." So I stopped eating. I was always asking her that, though. What can I say, I know it's stupid. I know it's not 'manly', I've had plenty of people write to me to tell me that they know my problem, sure enough, I'm just gay and I don't know it. That's the answer! I want to fuck men but I just, somehow, haven't realized it yet. I remember asking her if I had a fat ass, and she got so sad. Mumbled to me, "my boyfriend has a better ass then me" and all I could think was "it's your fault" as I thought about the cookie she ate earlier.
So I was fat. I was, I don't know how I could live with myself. But I never know how I can live with myself. Lost twenty-five pounds over the next two or three months, until she told me, "Snowden, I can see your ribs between your chest." GLEEEEEE! That's where they are supposed to be. You can't seem them now, well, you can, but only just barely. Because I'm fat now, like I'm always fat. I get to this point in every... loss, where I know this is the best I'm going to do, and I wish for great things to happen then. No, I tell myself great things will happen then.
So far they haven't. Nothing, that's what happens, except more movies from blockbuster. I don't even have alcohol anymore. But I doooooo, just for today. And yesterday. And the last week. Just for the last week.
I always do that, though. Make false promises. I'm not even any good at keepign them. Anything bad that happens, anything good that happens, all my depression, hopelessnes, loss, fear of all those many things I just don't understand, it's all because of weight. All of it, but, for some reason, it never is. This line of thinking, though, only leads me to one place. Utter hopelessness. Wandering around, that's what I did this weekend. Wandering around, watching people.
I wandered, I looked, I tried to make my brain look at the artwork I was supposed to be enjoying. My free tickets, I won them, to the fair. But the only art I saw was all the people there. People laughing, talking, holding each other around the waist, hair twisted up emo-style, jokes being told and polite laughs being offered. I don't understand any of it, but I wan't it all, I
crave it all. How do people do these things, I can't help but wonder?
I can't have these things, I know, so what things can I have? I know what I can have so I take it. I drink, and hope I don't drink until I'm sick.
-Snowden
