Hold Me Accountable

Ladies, I need to promise you something.

Not an ounce of solid will pass my lips tomorrow. Liquid fast.

Think I can do it? I damn well hope so. Hold me accountable. Because today I was a damn fat whale.

Yeah, one of those.

I didn't always used to do this, but lately I've fallen into the rut of comfort eating. Eating when I'm stressed. Angry. Upset. Strung out. I used to do that only occasionally (like, super duper upsetting days) but lately its been every time I've had a bad day. I'll stop on the way home from work and get something to eat (today it was Arby's. LARGE order. Last week it was Taco Bell. TOTALLY unnecessary!) and ruin an already pretty well ruined day. Today was around 1120 BEFORE the large Arby's. Yes, I had a bad day. But why did I have to go and make it worse? Did I really think that Arby's was going to make me feel better?

No, it makes me feel worse! Because now I'm stuck with that super bad decision! Its like the worst case of buyers remorse! Except I can't bring back an empty paper bag and ice-filled soda cup for a refund!

An asshole of a boss (5'4" tiny little man with a huge ego and a huger Napoleon Complex) can't shake me that bad. I can't let him do that to me. Then he wins! The Fat wins! As far as I'm concerned, he is on the same team as Fat, and I can't let either of them get to me.

Consider today a victory, Team Fat and Team Asshole. A meager victory. (You might as well consider Wednesday a victory too...its St. Patty's Day, and I'll be having a potluck followed by copious amounts of alcohol. :( Its unavoidable! I'll try my best though...) I will no longer use food as a crutch.

New Rule:

- If I am ever feeling the urge to eat due to emotional reasons (stress, anger, anxiety, depression) I will instead go to the computer for guidance in the form of thinspo/blogging, go to the outside world in the form of a walk/run (plan on trying this "running" thing, if you can really call it that, again tomorrow), or maybe if I'm feeling desperate, open up to my sig. other. I will use food as sustenance, not a crutch to hold up my emotional brickload. Because in the end, I just end up feeling worse, like a dog who really had to "go" so it shat on the carpet and now it's getting scolded. And eating for happiness is almost as dangerous as purging for emptiness.

I think I'll pop a few laxies. Wait, maybe not. I don't want to feel miserable tomorrow morning, or I'll NEVER leave for my exercise outside.

Fuck. I'm stuck with this bellyload.

Oh well. The alcohol is making me forget. (BTW, diet Mountain Dew Code Red and Bacardi Dragonberry [strawberry and dragonfruit flavored rum]? Fucking amazing. Tastes like strawberry soda! Yeah, I'm a girl, I drink girly liquor, so what? Its still 35% alcohol! And it fucking does the job! Whats wrong with it tasting good? Whoops, tangent!)

I dunno. I really had it all a few weeks ago. I was on. I was in the zone. I was like Sottile, dropping pounds like nobody's biz. Now? I'm going the other way. I'm almost in the 150's again! Fucking pathetic!

This is it. I'VE HAD IT. I can't stand it any more. I can't stand my pathetic life, my pathetic apartment, my pathetic job, I can't stand anything in my life right now. My fat? PATHETIC.
Everything else in my life sucks, you'd think I could control SOMETHING.

GET IT TOGETHER, EMILY. GET A FUCKING GRIP.

I have arrived.

I hope.

I need hope. I need a miracle.

I need control.