Be aware of my thoughts. That's what I'm supposed to do. What we hear when we're children is absorbed like water into a sponge. As a child, I heard I was fat, and I knew that no one liked me, so my brain equated being thin with being loved. And even though I am currently aware of this and realize that it is illogical, it's been so deeply engrained in me that I have to retrain my brain to believe something different. So the psychiatrist says, "Be aware of your thoughts" and try to stop them. She says I have a bit of body dysmorphic disorder. She says I look great. I showed her the big roll of fat on my stomach but she ignored it. I told her that I can't have dysmorphia if the fat is actually there, but regardless of the fat being there, I want to stop obsessing about it. She says "be aware of your thoughts". I would prefer a quicker fix than hours of therapy and being aware of my thoughts. What about hypnosis? Isn't there something I can do that won't take a long time? I'm tired of this shit. I am so tired of making everyone's life miserable with my constant, "I'm fat" ramblings. No one cares, no one agrees with me, and people resent feeling like they have to tell me I look good when they know I'll just keep saying I'm fat. I don't want people to be annoyed or resentful of me. I don't want people to dislike being around me. I guess I'm more likeable as a fat person with good self-esteem than I fat person with low self-esteem. Surprise! So I just have to accept the giant roll of fat on my stomach and not let it bother me. That just seems impossible. I guess I can at least start with not saying anything out loud. Maybe if I internalize the self-hatred, people won't resent me. God, this is just such bullshit. If only I could just lose the fat, then I wouldn't even have to worry about any of this, because when I'm thin, I know it, and when I know I'm thin, I don't complain about being fat. Therapists assume that it's something I complain about and see in myself no matter how much I weigh or how I look in the mirror, but the reality is that when I am thin, I know it, and I feel better about myself. I don't complain about being fat when I'm not fat. I guess the problem is that my standards for myself are higher than other people's. For me, I need to be in between a size 0 and 2 to feel like I'm thin. For other people, they think I am thin now. However, I am a size 4 now, and this is too big for me. I am a small person, only five foot two and three quarters. I have small bones and a small frame, and I don't need to be 123 pounds. It's too much for me. I should be 115 at maximum. I would prefer to be 110. I think this is reasonable. I'm not trying to be a skeleton, I've been anorexic and don't want to go back there. I like food. I don't want to look like a teenager. I just want to be height/weight proportionate...on the lower end of height/weight proportionate.If you look at the height/weight chart for someone who is five foot two with a small frame, they should weigh in between 108 and 121 pounds. So, I technically am two pounds over weight. And all I want is to be on the lower end of that chart. I don't want to be underweight. And you can ask anyone who knows me - when I'm at my ideal weight, I don't complain about being fat. Does my life get any better when I'm thinner? No, not really. Do I expect it to? No, not really. But it's certainly nice to be able to take my mind off my gut and start focusing on other things, so I guess there is a slight upswing in my quality of life when I am thin. However, there is the burden of trying to maintain that weight, and the fear that one taste of sugar will send me into the downward spiral of cheesecake-induced insanity. But you have to understand, I've spent most of my life as a cute girl, one who gets a lot of attention and double-takes from boys, and, while it may not be as epic as winning a Nobel Peace Prize, it still feels good. It feels great, actually, to be desired, to be "hot". And as I get older, I know that will continue to fade away and I will have to rely on my charm and quick wit to woo others, it's still painfully difficult to let go and let the younger girls have their moment in the spotlight. Like EP (aka Hot Girl), there's this one photograph of us together, and she just looks so radiant and shiny, full of life, almost glowing. And there was me, next to her, pale (literally) in comparison. I look okay, not terrible or anything, but certainly not glowing or shiny. I look dull, lifeless, like limp hair. That's age. EP doesn't tan, doesn't get her hair done, doesn't get her nails done, doesn't do any of the maintenance that I do to stay looking cute, yet she looks amazing next to me. So, shit, I've gotta stay on top of my game. Gotta get that tummy tight, gotta whiten those teeth and bleach that hair. I'm not ready to give up yet. And yet, no matter how thin and pretty I am, I still have no friends. I have one guy who loves me, and I love him, too, but I always wonder why he loves me and when he's going to leave. Sometimes I look at him and think, fuck...this guy is so gorgeous, in such good shape, he looks like a damn Abercrombie & Fitch model. He gets checked out by gay guys everywhere we go (so you know he's hot, because whether a man is gay or straight, you can count on him being superficial and attracted to beautiful things), so what does he see in me? I guess I'm pretty funny. And smart. An airhead, but smart, nonetheless. And he thinks I'm cute. Beautiful, sometimes. So I need to just accept that he loves me, believe that he wants to be with me and that he's not going anywhere (like he says). But I know he doesn't want a fat girl. He hates fat, especially on girls. He wouldn't be able to get a hard-on for a fat girl. So I have to at least stay thin for HAM. If not for the rest of the world, then at least for HAM. So anyway, I'm rambling, it must be time to stop, but the real point of all of this is that I need to be aware of my thoughts and stop them when they are negative because I am pretty awesome, and would be more awesome if I would shut the fuck up about my weight.

I have too many fat days, ugly days, low self-esteem days, I usually call them. I have fine hair that grows around my upper lip and chin, as do most girls (even the really hot ones) and I used to go to the greatest wax girl ever, but then she got pregnant and decided to take a six month maternity leave. Didn't she think about how this would affect me? Well, anyway, when she took leave, so did I. Once you develop a relationship with a waxer, you really don't want to start all over again. So I have been fending for myself for the last few months, using tweezers here and there, occasionally browsing the websites of local spas, but never making an appointment. Well, the hot girl from the gym, EP, invited us to a barbeque, so I decided I had to do something more thorough. When the sun shines on a unwaxed face and you catch it in just the right light, it's frightening. I didn't want to be that girl, especially around a hottie and all her stupid hot friends. So I used this cheapo wax from the drugstore, and it looked great at first, but a few days later (we never made it to the barbeque by the way), my skin developed a reaction to it. So now I havebig, red, painful bumps on the sides of my mouth. I've already been feeling bloated and fat lately, and now on top of the poor body image, my face is all fucked up. Makeup just makes it look even more ridiculous. I sometimes feel like I missed the day they taught hot girl grooming 101. For years I was unaware that hair grows on top of your toes, above your lip, on your chin, and down the center of your belly from your navel to the area where it is obvious that hair grows (and I didn't know that people groomed that region either). I didn't know I was supposed to shave those areas or have them waxed, and even if I had known, I wouldn't have known who to turn to. I didn't know that I shouldn't bite my nails, or chew the skin around my nails, I didn't know that box hair dye from the grocery store would turn my hair orange or green, depending on it's base. I didn't know what size bra I was, I didn't know that glitter and dark roots made me look cheap. I didn't know how to look good. And now that I know how I'm supposed to look, I don't know how to achieve the desired result. I work out five days a week, sometimes twice a day. I spend inordinate amounts of money on my hair and nails, and I used to spend it on waxing too. I am constantly buying new foundations and eyeliners, mascaras and face masks, trying to get the skin I want, the hair I want, the nails I want, the body I want, the face I want, the youth I wish I could recapture. And that's the worst part of all: even if I achieve the beauty results that I'm always desperately chasing, youth trumps maintenance every time. When I had hair on my toes, dark roots, glitter spread all over my chest, an ill-fitting bra, a half-shirt, bell-bottoms and bare feet, I had one major thing working in my favor. I was young. I was hot because I was young. It just doesn't take as much work when your young. Throw on whatever, you don't need makeup or fancy clothes or a waxed upper lip or a mani/pedi, all you need is your fresh little face and your perky little tits, and a spark in your naive little eyes. The older we women get, the more we try to recapture that effortlessness, but it takes so much damn effort! It's so expensive and time-consuming to look as if "Oh, I just threw this on. I didn't even have time to do my makeup this morning." Skin gets rougher and starts to droop, fine lines creep around the corners of your eyes, a slight wrinkle appears in the center of the forehead, and veins, you know, the ones your mother has, start prutruding from your hands. Time cannot be turned back. It's just one more instance of accepting the current situation. I can't get younger, so I have to work with what I have. Learn how to manage my fading beauty. Learn how to accept that it's someone else's turn in the spotlight, but the spotlight will fade on those girls as well. As we fade, the spotlight fades. It sucks not being the hottest girl in the room. Now the hottest girl in the room is EP. She's 22.