"You existential little shit," came the abrupt call of how-do-you-do.
She's a mess she's a mess she's a mess she's a mess, Lady Gaga spat.
Enough talking and resoluting. I have no idea how I've gotten to this point, but I'm giving myself no other choice than to face my fears. So here goes:
I'm 65 kgs. Yes, vomit blood eat shit, I'm a heavy blob of a girl. I feel disgusted and embarrassed by how I've allowed myself to come this far despite the constant intention to keep fit and healthy and look the slightest bit confident in myself. I look shit and I feel shit, which has the most nightmarish compounding effect that plays evil games in my mind.
A few days whilst at Borders, I saw an old flame. When I say old, I mean, 11 years ago. He used to be the head boy at my school, and like any other teenage boppy girl with nothing to lose, I had the biggest crush on him. I became a prefect. I taught him music. I went to his house. I found every excuse I could to follow my brother to his brother's house. 11 years on, many countries away, I bump into him and all I could do was lower my head. In embarrassment. Not knowing what else to do to stop him from hardly recognising me.
But life is so much more precious than that, isn't it? I mean, I'm tired of hiding beneath baggy and daggy clothes, tired of pretending to be so absorbed in my work that I can't take better care of myself. It's childish and downright stupid. I want to feel proud of myself once again. Be the person that I know is inside.
Therefore, I have given myself a year. A year to lose 10 kgs. It's going to take every ounce of determination in me that I can muster, but I will squeeze everything out of myself if that's what it takes.
Because I want to raise my head again and say, How d'you do?
Take care.
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