New low...but it doesn't feel like it? Hm. Gotta fix that.

I think I'm in denial. Yes. My mind doesn't believe the scale, doesn't believe in the surreal series of blurry numbers before my early morning eyes:



Nah...

That can't be right.

You know the drill, P.D. Step on, step off. Lean to the left. Step off, step on, teeter-totter-lean, stand right in middle. Stare.

Hm.

Huh.

Well. Those laxies did hurt like a mothafuckin'bitchfromhell last night. That could explain it.

So what does the mirror say today? Well, yesterday it hated me. Or, rather, I hated myself. The mirror simply assisted. Yes, Thursday was an especially horrid day for my dysmorphia. In the art building at school, the smooth reflective surface before my sallow face showed me lovely, loving bones in my shoulders, in my arms, in my chest, in my back, all casting shadows down and around themselves under harsh, unforgiving fluorescent lights. But my eyes traveled down to where they never should on a day like yesterday, down to my hips -- my disgraceful hips -- my ass, my thighs...Ugh, fuck...the shudder that escaped was inadvertently audible as it reverberated through the tiny restroom, echoing my disgust for all present to enjoy.

I left rather quickly. That was awkward.

Today, though... Well, at least for now, I feel okay with what MY bathroom mirror is saying about my UPPER body. I've decided to completely IGNORE my lower half for right now, for my own sanity. Yes. I can do that.



As unreal as 128.4 seems, I'm wondering now if 125 will seem any more concrete, as that's the "official healthy weight" I'd decided to keep as my stopping point...if I'm to stop at "healthyish" place. If not...If I want to keep pushing it and really get to my skin-n-bones ideal of beauty... Well, then I'll be pushing on down to 110, won't I?

Baby steps.

Love you, beauties. I hope you all have a wonderful Friday. I know I'm going to try to make mine as badass as I can. I have a free babysitter til Sunday night, so I'm going to try to pack as much partying into this weekend as possible. I don't EVER get to do that!!! :D EVER!!! Trick is to get myself into the partying mood, you know? Cuz if I'm all depressed and shit, well...then there's really no use in trying to go out and get shitfaced and have fun, is there? No, there really isn't. I'll just end up smearing teary mascara all over some random stranger's shirt and feeling sorry for myself, telling my whole life story to some schmuck who doesn't care or deserve to hear it, and spending a whole lot of money I don't actually have on a lot of empty alcohol calories that'll end up on my fat ass and/or in the back alley of a bar off of 6th street because I can't hold my liquor on an empty stomach. Ah, how I wish I had money. I'd just go and get a new tattoo. ;)

<3