• 59 kilos. I weighed myself just before. It’s been awhile since I’d done that and I have no idea what possessed me, usually those sorts of numbers don’t get a second glance. Its not about the number, its about how tight my clothes are, how prominent that curve of my stomach is, how much my hips bulge over my jeans. I’m sorry darling, that I got so shitty at you the other day, for offering to help me. I don’t know if you read that in the message, but I was raging. You have to understand, I’m not angry at you, Im angry at me. It’s that summer all over again, a couple of summer’s ago I put on 8 kilos, in 6 weeks. Since then, I haven’t lost that. I just got a little used to it, I pull my stomach in tighter, bought slightly bigger clothes. I hate it, I hate myself, I used to be thin, I used to have hipbones that you could grab onto, not too protruding but enough. My stomach used to be almost flat. It was never as disgusting as it is now. Even my face was thinner. I know you say you love my body, but I cannot even begin to comprehend how. It is disgusting. And the reason darling, that I got so mad, is that it won’t change. I’ll continue to put on weight. I won’t exercise; I won’t stop eating too much. It doesn’t change. Something happened, I lost all my motivation. I can’t seem to do it anymore. I used to be able to run, to do 200 sit ups if I put my mind to it. I was okay at yoga. And now I’ve stopped, somewhere, somehow in the last couple of years I stopped. I was never very strong, but now, now I have no strength. I’m not playing sport now, and I don’t exercise. If I kid myself, I can maybe say that walking is my exercise. But it’s not. I used to have days spent, of activity, of doing stuff. And now, I don’t really do much. I don’t care so much about being a stick anymore; I just want those numbers back down towards 50, below 55, sitting on 52, even 53. I want be less disgusting. And baby, you can’t offer to help me, well you can. Just I won’t take you up on it. I’m too ashamed to let you see how unfit, how weak I am. And you’ll say you won’t care, but I do. So much. Im just being stupid and pround, of something that there is nothing to be proud about. I’m just hoping, that maybe something will change and that I can get that bit of motivation back, the motivation that pushed my asthma riddled lungs to play centre, to try and keep up with my brother as he ran the city to bay, to be able to do 200 pushups. Maybe, I’ll start trying. See I started, on the weekend, I forced myself to not go in the car, to walk, to do some yoga, to not binge. Then I get back to here, to this shed. To the charged emotions, the hills around me, and the full pantry. And I lose it all again. And now I’m making excuses. I’m out for now. I can’t see to type anymore for the tears.

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