Oh, You Know, Just Nostalgia

*Please excuse the drunk post. Full of errors. Maybe I’ll edit later.*

Think back on the first time (in memory), at 6 years old, that you had to run laps around the apartment before you’d let yourself have a brownie.

“Dad why do people wear sweatsuits when they work out?”

“Because they think they can burn more fat, er, calories that way.”

So you put on your only sweatshirt and sweatpants and run around the apartment.

Think about the time where, a few years later, you say “no, I’m done” at dinner time because by GOD you’ve had like 3 bites of burger? What are you, a champion eater? And your filthy two-faced shit of a cousin tells your parents it’s because you think you’re fat.

So instead of being able to play solitaire alone on your computer in your room you have to have an awkward conversation with your dad and stepmom about how “beautiful” you are and you know “your mom has a problem” and “we don’t want that for you” and “you can come to us with things that bother you” etc.

So instead of taking that to heart you tell yourself no lunch tomorrow.

So at lunch tomorrow you skip the line and sit down and are perfectly content with a book and some bitch comes by like “What? you thought you could just skip lunch?”

“I forgot lunch money.”

“That’s ok!”

So they give you a salad. Eh.

One of your first best friends, the other Ashley (there was always another Ashley. There will always be other Ashleys. For fuck’s sake.) said she was fat. and she could almost touch her fingers when she wrapped her hands around her waist. so you dieted too.

“Carrots are negative calories, right?” you ask her at lunch in 5th grade.

“I don’t know.” She’s eating ravioli from home.

You cry in the morning because your shirt is form fitting.

To this day you generally avoid anything that gives the illusion that you have a torso.

Not only are you covered in scars and freckles but so much fat.

So much fat you literally want to die thinking about it. You wonder “but fuck it wouldn’t be nice to cut into a fat corpse” so you tell yourself you’ll get skinny but you’re so goddamn stressed that you eat a lot and you drink so much and suddenly you’re fatter. and they put you on drugs cuz you’re sad and you get even fatter.

And how the hell can I kill myself at this weight?!?! I can’t let people remember me like this! I’ve been to several funerals. I remember the faces. I don’t want to be remembered as fat.

At this point, it’s too late. I am the fat friend. The fat girl. The fat wife. The fat coworker.

The one who stomps, always has an extra serving, always gets more chips.

Since you were 13 you said I can’t die until I’m a skinny corpse. So you binge out of panic and think FUCK so you puke and you won’t lose any weight but shit you can’t seem to stop. So you work out.

At 16 I snuck into the gym using my mom’s card (because we looked alike) and woke up to faces looking down at me wondering if I need CPR because I went to the gym after my parents fell asleep.

I’ve been skipping meals and throwing up and over working out since I can remember.

I have so many scars I literally cannot count them. Thousands of scars.

I see faces in things that shouldn’t have faces and feel terror anytime I’m left to my thoughts.

Yet, somehow I’ve still managed to stay fat. Stay stupid. Stay ugly. Stay broke, worthless, and always tired. Useless, pathetic, hideous inside and out.

I am an absolute piece of shit. You’d think for hating myself so much I’d actually do something about it.

NOPE. Like I said: absolute worthlessness. Human fucking garbage.

It’s funny. One day I’ll get clipped in a drive-by shooting. I’ll be lying on the sidewalk, something nicked that’s stupid like my femoral artery. Something so lame. Maybe just my liver. And I’ll be laughing like “damnit I’ve waited for this day so long. Egg on my face.”

I’m terrified of gun shots and zombies and robbers and leaving the house in general and pretty much everything there is to be afraid of. Silly fears for someone who’s usually suicidal.

I would say put me out of my misery, but really, I just want to enjoy things. And be skinny. And less ugly. And maybe less stupid. Though, everyone already thinks I’m stupid, so what’s the point.

Wow. This has been a post.


Happy Tuesday.


One thought on “Oh, You Know, Just Nostalgia

  1. Pingback: Repost because I’m stuck in that rut. | Cats and Candy

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