More puking, more laxatives. I'm really tired, and I think I've gained instead of lost. I'm probably much closer to my highest weight than I am comfortable with, so I'm terrified to weigh myself. I'm staying away from the scale until the space between my thighs begins to show itself, again.
I can't believe I've gained so much from being 120 lbs. How did I fuck that up? I was underweight and so strong, so in control. What the fuck happened to me? Obviously, I just got fat.
Pat is losing weight, too. We're probably very close a far as our weight goes. I'm happy for him, very happy, because he's never really been skinny, and he's gaining a lot of confidence. I just need to be smaller than him. This need of mine makes me the worst person in the world.
All the more reason to starve, right?
Cyclic is the word.
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