crash&burn.

Last night was crappy.

I stuffed a lot of food into my pantyhose at the top, but in the end I ate:

half a grilled cheese sandwich, a piece of toast, a salad, and three hushpuppies.

It was terrible.

My grandma and my mom had a good time though. That's all that matters. I can give. I can.

As soon as we got home, I took a shower and threw it all up.

Afterward I talk about how wonderful dinner was. My voice is raw at the edges.

It's morning now. I love morning. It forgives everything from the day before. It forgives you, no matter who you are or how much you suck.

It's hard to eat little when family is visiting. There are cookies and ice cream and chips. It's not like I'm tempted by all the black things, but people want me to eat it. I can't say no, to anyone, to anything. (I hate how fragile and needy and obedient I am underneath.)

Breakfast is mint tea. I pretend to add a mountain of sugar, when in fact not a grain drops in my mug.

Lunch is half a granola bar (45) and a serving of mini rice cakes (70).

I have frozen berries for dessert at dinner (91) and soup (70).

Everyone loved the soup.

I have a snack, later. It's a full granola bar this time (90).

The most horrible conversation about me... while I was standing right there. They were talking about my figure.

"Oh, yeah, LooLoo is very, voluptuous."

And my mom was agreeing with her, talking about how my hips are balanced out by my chest.

Secret codewords for fat were being flung all over the place and tears in my eyes.