12:42 a.m.

It's ok

So, no surprise, my doctor doubled my Prednisone dosage. I've had a really hard time accepting it the past few days, and that's why I haven't really written anything. Yesterday I was in bed all day and just cried every once in awhile. (Which is probably also due to the fact that I got my period - again). Today, after a recitation for an exam I have tomorrow, I went to the mountains for a short hike. We had exceptionally nice weather today and I miss being outside.

Being in the mountains always helps me clear my mind, organize my thoughts, and feel better. Sometimes I forget how therapeutic it is and how lucky I am to be so close to something I love so much.

I'm in a very grateful mood at the moment, and I'm just very happy to have the people in my life that I do.

I was very down on myself yesterday, and I was very upset about my weight and how much I'm going to gain from the medicine. I just berated myself in my mind over and over about things I don't really have control over. I contemplated not taking it at all, and what repercussions that would have and if it would be worth it.

But today while walking around the mountains I realized that I am so much more than my fucking weight. I'm a good person, and I'm kind, and caring, and loyal, and honest, and funny, and loving, and intelligent. And there are amazing people who know me, and accept me, and don't give a shit what I look like. I could be a 3 foot green one-legged girl and they would still accept me as I am because they're my friends, and they love me, and why the fuck couldn't I see this before?

I've wasted so much of my life, and my energy, and my time, hating myself and focusing my hate on my body that it's sad, really.

I've been happy before, and ironically, it wasn't when I weighed 115lbs. In fact, when I was that thin I was fucking miserable. I was happiest when I was close to my highest weight, because I felt loved and accepted for who I was, and I had given up bulimia and I was working on loving myself and I was happy.

It's taken 28 years, but I'm finally coming to terms with the fact that what has happened in the past is in the past. I can't continue to hurt myself, and the people I love, because of things that I can't change. I've manifested my self hatred into eating disorders, or cutting myself, or drugs. Bulimia (and the resulting weight gain) is a way of punishing myself for something that I had no control over in the first place, and giving me an excuse to hate myself more.

I'm sure this makes absolutely no sense to anyone because it's jumping all over the place and I can't seem to organize my thoughts on the page, even though they're perfectly organized in my head.

Anyway, I'm not going to hate myself anymore because I don't have the perfect body, or because a medicine I'm taking will make me gain more weight. Of course Iím not going to become complacent, but Iím not going to make it ruin my happiness, either. The people in my life love me for me, and thatís whatís important.

But, donít worry; the little Asian lady at the gym will still be my arch nemesis Ė that will never change.

Edited to add:
I just saw this and it made me cry (hormones?) even though itís ridiculously odd. Kind of relevant to my feelings lately, though.

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