It Was Never 89 Pounds

It's funny, because no matter what I do, I can't accept how I look. Most girls can't. You ask any girl, and they would definitely say that there is at least one thing that they would change about themselves.

It's not even that they want that particular one thing. What they want to change is how they look at themselves, and how they perceive other people are looking at them. They're sitting there thinking, if [insert something here] is different, then I/people will look at me in a better light. But really, would they? I can understand losing fat when it threatens your health, but not getting or losing volume just because our society is so obsessed with the perfect body. (BTW, what the fuck is that?) But a nose job? An eye lift? It's all to get a different reaction either when we look in the mirror or leave the pseudo-safety of our bathrooms.

It was never 89 pounds that appealled to me, and I see that now. Even when I was 89 pounds, I still didn't like how I looked. But now that I am 117-ish (give or take a couple... probably take), 89 pounds sounds pretty damn good. But again, it isn't even the number: it's how I now perceived I looked when I weighed that much. Cuz yeah, I was skinny as heck.

Unfortunately I know that if I ever got that light again, I still wouldn't be happy with myself, and would keep losing, and keep losing, and keep losing, and end up really sick. Hell: at 89 I would already be really sick.

Yet I still want that number, simply because of what it symbolizes now. Somehow I've convinced myself that the number means happiness with how I look.

Which turns around to another major issue I'm facing now: going to CO with David.

Again: if you've read dreamless slumber, you know I've pretty much made up my mind. But all my plans beforehand were for all the wrong reasons.

It was part of "the plan." Society's so-called norm. You graduate from high school, then go to college, then graduate from that, get a job, get married, start your career, have kids, grow old, retire, grow older, die, and are buried in a nice little 3x7 plot. I did it because I thought that the formula: college(08)+ graduation(12)+ marriage(12)+ kids(13+15)+ personal firm(25)= happiness. Again: it's the same thing as the 89 pounds concept.

Neither of those things would necessarily bring me happiness. So many people pursue things bc it's the right thing to pursue, they'd be comfortable, it'd be nice.

Screw nice, screw easy, screw comfortable, screw right. Right is not the same for everyone. Everyone needs to follow their own dreams. That's what the original "American" dream was, but now it's been taken over by industry and corporations. Making money. Big freakin' whoop. And besides, with where the dollar's going now, what big deal with that be?

I'm gonna make my own dream. Or, even, just put myself to sleep and see what the fuck pops up. I'll go along with the ride. Take the time to actually experience shit.

Live a little.