S.P.E.W.

Wow. I'm a little tired of Scott, of Tanner, of Ex's in general. Of memories resurfacing about how things fall apart. I'm tired of men, of mankind. I'm tired. I try so hard to keep it together, but sometimes it feels like bulimia; you try and keep it all together, to create this good appearance, and it backfires.... literally. Eventually it just all explodes out of you, causing a real mess. I've thought about bulimia quite a bit lately. I've contemplated being bulimic. It sounds pretty easy. It's seems like a pretty simple recipe.

3 cups low self esteem
2 cups unhealthy comparison
7 heaping spoonfuls of schoolwork
1 lb. chopped stress
2 tbs. of my own expectations
2 tsp. the expectations of others.

Combine ingredients in a large human soul, bake at an average lifestyle for 20 years, and voila! I'm skinny! My family wouldn't comment on my weight anymore, I'd get more dates, I wouldn't feel so fat in dance class, and my thighs wouldn't jiggle uncomfortably. I'd never fear shopping for jeans again!
Seems like a pretty cool equation, right?
Girl+Food=Fat, but Girl+Food-Food=Not Fat.

Then I think about the x factor in that equation. Let me show you what happens when you multiply this equation by x. It's simple algebra, really.
(Girl+Food-Food)x=malnutrition, tooth decay, permanent throat damage from regurgitated stomach acid, etc.
Yeah, that etc. is an algebraic function.

There's always that 'x' factor in life. That thing that just keeps you from completing something. You're on the edge of victory, of glory, of accomplishment, of disaster, and it pulls you back, or trips you at the finish line. Take it for what you will.

I wish I had more self-confidence. I wish I was more honest about who I was. I don't know that I'm completely my honest self right now, because I'm utterly sleep deprived and emotionally strained, but I'd like to think that the sad and worn out parts of me are just as honest and the cheerful and loving ones.

Sometimes I'd like a little more recognition. Someone to just come up to me, genuinely, out of the blue, no-nonsense and no angle, and just tell me they love me. Not because I'm sad, or because I look or sound like I need it, but because they care. 100% they just love me. They're not trying to gain my affection, or a pat on the back, or a compliment in return. They just care about me.
I guess I should do that for other people, then.

The truth is, sometimes all that the bulimic people need is a hug.