Food For Thought

I am at school while I write this, and it is 10:40. . . 10:41. . . and I was just thinking about food. Kris always says I am afraid of eating in front of people and that I have an eating disorder. . . sad part is, I think she's right. But the awful truth is, I am overweight. Or at least I think I am. No one else does, apparently, but they are wrong. They are all wrong. I am overweight! Why can no one see that?? I am too short to eat 2,000 calories and I am too short to weigh 104! No one understands!! I don't think anyone will ever understand just how it feels to be 4"10 and feel fat all the time! BECAUSE I AM! And it is just so gosh darn difficult to lose the weight! I don't know why it is. My guess is genetics, but God. . . GOD. May the Lord just help me. I feel like I am losing my mind sometimes about this. I am too afraid to look at myself in the mirror. When I am in the shower, I close my eyes. When I put on a tight shirt, you can CLEARLY SEE THE BULGE. It is there. I know it. I can see it. I can feel it. . .

A Depressing Decision Worth Making. . .

Today, as my best friend Kristen and I sat in the back seats together of a poetry meeting after school, we randomly started a small conversation of our past love ones, as we usually do. Of course, this time, it finally hit me that there is absolutely no point in even talking about it. None. No one can say otherwise, either. It is not helping with coping and allowing time to heal our wounds - and talking about it all the time just makes it all the more worse! Heck, just thinking about it hurts inside, for both of us. I know it. She is hurting, and so am I. So, I suggested we vow to never speak of it again, and made her shake on it. And she did, with some hesitation. . . But, she did none the less, and I am proud of her. We deserved better than them, anyway, and God will help us through this mess. He will heal us and reward us with what we truly deserve.

Amen.

Fear Of Weight

The other morning I weighed myself; 101. Such a beautiful, mind-easing number it truly is. I dared naught to weight myself again on this day, for I fear that that precious number - 101 - might have gone away. . .

Christian Hypocrisy

Today, like every Sunday, I went to church with my dad. It was nice, as always. For me, going to church is like taking a shower after a week of rolling around in filth. It is always refreshing, and always brings up my spirits.
But today, like everyday, there is one person who knows how to but me down to size.
My father's girlfriend, of course. [Let us just call her "The Nameless One". . .]
After church my father and I went home and I made him breakfast, and cleaned up around the house and in my bedroom, and around 12 o'clock my dad asks if I would like to go out to lunch with him and Rena. I thought it might be nice to do. It was not like I had anything else to do. Besides, I admittingly do not spend enough time with him.
So we go to pick her up, and honest to God, the very minute she got into the car she started trouble.
Now, I would like to set something straight, I highly despise talking about people. I truly, truly do. That, and many other things like it. The Nameless One has a terrible habit of talking about people, I mean terrible. So, back to the story, the very moment she sat in the car, the first words out of her mouth were, "Did you see so-an-so? He walked in a few minutes ago. Told me to tell you hello. Did you see his girlfriend with him? She's so short. Looks like a chiuaha. She's not pretty at all."
I'm sitting in the back, and I sigh deeply with discomfort and mumble under my breath, "That's not very nice. . ."
She says, "What?"
"Nothing."
"No what, what did you say?"
"I said, that is not very nice."
So The Nameless One swiftly turns around to look at me, and peering over her bottlecap glasses she says, "Don't you even dare try that with me! You're always talking about people! Calling them fat, and ugly."
"No, that is you. You are the one always talking about people. You are always talking about people. It never ends."

. . .and she calls herself a christian. . .

She just turns back around and yaps on.
I do not like her.
Not one bit.
I swear, sometimes I feel like I just want to push her out the car door, or off a cliff, or something. . .
Then, as if that were not enough, she has the audacity to laugh her high-pitched, appalling laugh and say, "I'll tell ya what, people were happy and smiling all day until I got in this car!"
My dad replies, "Yeah, because we're the assholes here. . ."
My only words were, "Everyone was fine until you got in."

. . .enough said.

He thinks I do not miss him, but I do. He thinks I have lost my love for him and have forgotten all we have been through, but i have not. He acts like I do not exist, like we were never together; I can see it on his face. How he laughs and smiles, how it is so plain to see that he does not even miss me. How can it be so? After everything we have been through together. Does it mean nothing to him? Do I mean nothing to him? Perhaps the question should be, did I ever mean anything to him? I sure thought he did. He led me to believe he really loved me. He led me into a trap and I fell right in and shattered every bone in my body. I fell for him. He scooped me up and threw me into a black abyss and left me there to rot.

One month and 22 days...

25 minutes...

20 seconds.

dead.