<rant> you know what? no matter how much you think you're doing the right thing. regardless of the fact that i suffer from depression. regardless of how much of a "responsibility" you feel you have. when you tell me that you are going to call the police to do a welfare check on me because i tweeted that i was sad and you've never even met me in real life and we don't have a personal relationship other than superficial tweets on twitter then you're being a condescending arse. and quite frankly, how dare you?! and yes, you will probably get offended by this but i don't fucking care. you offended me first. </rant>
That's how many weeks I have been alive (give or take a couple of days). Two thousand one hundred and seventy-nine. Yet here I am still fighting the same fights I have always fought. Self-image, self-acceptance, unrelenting standards, imposter syndrome. Once again I find myself in a body that feels uncomfortable and unhealthy. It crept up on me slowly and suddenly all at the same time. I still barely eat any refined sugar. I turn down the lollies and cakes and doughnuts at work. It's not even a struggle, I no longer enjoy the way sugar makes my body feel. But my old nemesis, potato chips, remains undefeated. I eat potato chips to fill the emptiness in my soul. To feel as miserable physically as I do mentally or emotionally. To get comfort from an association with my childhood. It is the struggle I can't overcome. The war I can't win. So after months of trying on my own to no avail, months of the scales not budging, I have signed up for a healthy eating plan. I'm n
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