This is harder than I thought it was going to be. Going home, doing my own thing. I now see the harsh reality of what those two sedentary weeks did to me. My mind is once again racing at a million miles per hour, how am I going to get smaller and how fast can I do it. I just walked two miles in the freezing cold to grab my usual, virtually calorie-free black coffee instead of driving, just because I want to tread these extra pounds off already. The healthy weight I gained is already proving itself a burden in my everyday mental battle. I plan to do two hundred crunches when I get home in an attempt to tone my stomach, my most insecure area. My head goes crazy when I can feel my thighs touching again. I'm sick. Completely drained of healthful intentions, why is it so fucking hard to prioritize the state of my heart over how many ribs I can count? I want a cigarette. I want to look sick sometimes, Jesus, listen to me. I need help but I don't want to seek it. When did this start, that's all they've been asking me. Honey I can't answer anything right now, god knows when I'll have the strength or knowledge of how I got to this war zone. Is a little peace too much to ask for?
#rant
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