mollyburton

It is never going to end. I thought that the second the amount of flesh and fat I was no longer carrying with me hit the triple digits my life would change. I would be able to breathe in the clean, clean air and feel it filter through my body, pure and light and refreshing.

Somehow I still feel as though I am moving too much air. I find myself having to navigate around my body because it is constantly in my way. If It could just be a little smaller here, and a little smaller there then I would slice through the world and not make any wakes or disturbances.

How could I have been so blind? There was no light at the end of the tunnel. I was not working, and suffering, and trying and fighting for any kind of victory. I was working and suffering and trying and fighting for more of the same. For the opportunity to do it all again, only harder, and with more discipline and more passion and promise.

I'm trapped inside my own mind and this stupid body I have to wear, and I am never going to get out.

Damaged people are dangerous. They know they can survive.
(-95)
Five more pounds until the universe comes together for me, and I can see all the beauty in the world.  
Five more pounds until I will be too small for the bad and weak and hopelessness to sink it's claws in anymore.
Five more pounds until I am small enough to fit into your life and into your heart without taking up too much space or causing too much of a stir.

It's a battle for the triple digits, and I'm stuck in the twos.
I will hate myself less when I have lost over a hundred pounds.  Once I've lost three digits of weight, it will be easier for people to fit me into their lives.
17 more pounds til... something.
17 more pounds til nothing.
17 more pounds til maybe it will feel okay to like myself again.

27 pounds til I am half my previous weight.

I take up to much space.

It's St. Patrick's day. Proof that I am not the only one who buys happiness by the bottle.
I hope I live through the night.