What 'utterly horrifying' is:
Stepping on the bathroom scale in my cousin's room and discover to my absolute shock and horror that it read 47 kg.
FORTY-SEVEN FUCKING KILOFUCKINGRAMS.
The last time I stepped on that same weighing scale, it read 45.
I just KNEW that I'd put on weight. It must've been all the Western food I've been eating in school over the past 5 weeks, what with being in school all the time due to my intensive module and everything. Oh, shit. My worst nightmare coming true. I really shouldn't have stopped swimming. I need to stop eating fried stuff, which unfortunately includes fries.
YUCK. My arms are ostensibly thicker than they were when I was interning at the second firm I interned at.
So, I guess this means I'm back to being weight-obsessed. And I realise with a sinking feeling that it's never gonna end, the same way a lot of shitty things in life which you wish would simply leave you alone ultimately choose to stick around like some irritating fucking parasite.
Because - and I hope this is just PMS but who knows - I have hypothesised lately that it's really never, ever going to stop hurting. No matter what future happiness you manage to find, or not, you're always going to carry around the burden of a past love gone horribly wrong. There will always be a constant, incessant reminder of that thing you want so badly to forget wherever you go, catching you off-guard right around the corner, perpetually haunting you.
These flashbacks and memories, sneaking up on you like a clandestine thief in a dark alley, and then shamelessly putting themselves in repeat mode in your mind, until you can't ignore them anymore and are forced to watch them in your head, over and over. Held at knife point. Blade pressed against the throat. Maybe it'd be much easier if the fucker did you a favour and slit your throat. Put you out of your misery.
On some level I think I'm aware that this entire academic year is me running away from my problem. But I'm so fucking sick of confronting it, of dealing with it, because I've been trying to deal with it for nine months and I honestly just want it to go away, leave me alone, let me have some peace. Some things I just can't accept, some people I really don't want to see, so sue me for being childish and emotionally immature but I've never been like you and I think you've always known that. I can't compartmentalise; I can only suppress things for a while before they re-surface and back me into a shady corner with a knife held to my throat. That's what it feels like now and it shouldn't be this way and I'm back to believing that love is a sham.
I have to apologise for this: I haven't been able to stand being around couples for the past month or so. Couples shouldn't be around me, really; my vitriolic negativity isn't exactly healthy. And sometimes I almost blurt out the horrible things that are going on in my head, acidic words that are mere products of all the shit that's happened this year and not really anything real or substantial.
I honestly don't know what I can do to make everything go away. I don't know what else I need to seek closure. It's been really tempting to rebound but when I'm being logical and reasonable and rational about everything, it's clear that there's no point in doing so, and that I really deserve so much more. It's not easy and the resentment grows insidiously every single day and I wish I could get away from it all - forever.
Of course, there are people around here that make me smile, people that make me happy, people who aren't complicated and whom I know I could always count on. People around school, outside of school, people I've known for years, people that root me to something fundamental that this entire fiasco hasn't managed to entirely erode. Half of the reason I haven't entirely died is them.
And the rest of it?
I don't know. Me? Strength of character, tenacity of will? Come off it, really. Breathing underwater the whole time. Semester 2 of Year 2 was utterly horrendous, I stopped feeling for quite a long time, then again I felt deeply and none of it was good. And everytime I think back to that entire period I wonder how I managed to survive.
And I think that Year 4 might be like that, to some extent. And for this very reason I'm not looking forward to Year 4.
Because I don't foresee myself feeling any differently a year from now. I don't foresee myself feeling any differently - ever.
Life is fucking shit. There's no other way to say that, really. I haven't stopped wondering what the point is; I haven't stopped feeling like there isn't one.
Everything looks perfect from faraway, doesn't it?
I am really royally fucked for everything.
Haven't finished reading that 124-page Oren Gross article for tomorrow's class.
Haven't done jack shit for tomorrow's Evidence tutorial.
I fucking hate Mondays.
Pardon me if I'm extremely grouchy in school tomorrow. I really despise Mondays and it doesn't help that I currently feel very stressed out, very moody, rather resentful, and extremely PMS-y.
I wanted to talk about driving but I'm no longer in the mood.
Postal Service's Such Great Heights has been stuck in my head the entire day.
Looking forward to next weekend. I have activities lined up to slowly ease myself into house arrest mode for the mid-sem break.
Hmm. I think I'm going to drive to Cold Storage now to pick up some stuff. And some food, too; getting hungry again. I went for a swim after eating a hell lot of fattening stuff at my grandma's over lunch. And yeah, this entry is horrendously written. Whatever.
Lastly, I will lose 2 kilos by November. Yes, I will. I've done it before - I can do it again.
The maintenance is a royal pain in the ass though.
But why are my jeans continually becoming looser?
I think I'm PMS-y.
Have I mentioned that I detest being female at times?