fuck you. fuck. you.

I was going to just leave this alone today.

I was going to just have a nice binge-eating disorder day, and try not to think about how fat everything was making me. 

I wasn't going to blog today.

Gee, thanks dad.

If I had a dollar for every time he's said something to me about my weight, I'd be absofuckinglutely rich.

Today at dinner, people commenting on what I'm eating (dinosaur chicken and mashed potatoes- because I don't like beef, and I have to put up a normal front in front of my extended family). My dad starts in on how all I eat is chicken tenders, bread, and potatoes. Clearly someone doesn't look in the cupboard at my vitamin water and Luna bars. Clearly, someone doesn't notice me not even eating dinner.

And they wonder why I have self-esteem issues.

I mentioned that I have lost twelve pounds since October (yes!).

His next comment? "Uh-huh. (laughs sarcastically) It's really all about exercise. If she exercised for an hour every day, she could be 105 pounds."

Way to fucking be dad. Not only would I be underweight at 105 (heaven! But if I follow his advice, he'll think he's the only one that knows shit. If I were 105 they'd tell me to eat MORE. pass.), but he's really not fucking one to talk. After losing a ton of weight, he's fucking gone and gained it right back.

When I'm skinny, I'll be the one laughing. Starting now, no food until Monday. Nothing solid at all. I'm back on track and ready to prove everyone wrong.