All Apologies.

I haven't posted in ages and truthfully it is because I forgot I had this thing. I have done this before too. I think I have commitiment-phobia for diaries. When I was young, I received many a diary, being young and female and very quiet, but I would only write for a little while and then stop. My bookcase used to be filled with these little skeleton books: how I treasured reading into the innermost workings of one week in 4th grade. But I never got more than that. I remember the longest lived one had three golden retrievers on the front and a sticker of Josh Hartnett's face on the back. I think I got the sticker from a Cosmo!Girl booklet. I used to find is uncharted eyebrows very dreamy. But that was only when I was finding boys dreamy in general. Most of the time, boys passed men passed me by like leaves on the wind. Right up past my seventh grade of school. I began school when I was five and my best friend was a boy. Daniel. But in first grade, the fucker left me for Jake. After that, boys held neither my interest nor my fancy.
Funnily enough, in eight grade a rumor circulated about e mostly out of malice and less from evidence that I was a lesbian and I really had nothing to say about it. I was pretty sure I did not like women, but I did not really like men either. When I found out about asexuality (I think during computer class in one of those portable classrooms that always smelled of manufactured air and never seems to go away, no matter how old the portables got) I was pretty sure that was me. I did definitely begin to care about how I looked in middle school though. In eighth grade, I started Weight Watchers with my sister. I was 185 pounds at 5'9". My sister had just finished her high school life of volleyball and my mom didn't want her to get too fat for her graduation dress. Atleast that was what I was told. Mostly I think my mom wanted me to be skinny for high school. It worked too. I went down to 152 by the fall of my freshman year. I have never been that skinny again. Now here I am, older and fatter. Still 5'9" but now almost 210 pounds. I hate it all. The stretch marks, the flab, the lack of feeling in my stomach fat (odd how there just aren't enough nerves for all that fat) the looks from my family.
At school, my roommates tell me I look not overweight, that I shouldn't diet, that I am fine. I say, thanks mom but that is wher the real gas is. My mom would never say that stuff. If she did, I might start liking myself and then, god forbid, I'd get even FATTER! All that I-love-myself eating. If I stopped hating myself though, I'd probably be a lot healthier. It wouldn't be so fun and sneaky then. But it worries me to ever become healthy. Then what would I hate? What would I fight? What if I hated my face skinny? What if I really am ugly under all the fat!? Right now, I just think "yeah, I'm okay but my neck! There is nothing to be done about it! I will not be right with this double chin." No chin-no problem? It terrifies me.
You know what's funny. I am "the pretty one" of my family. What a joke! Honestly, as unbiased as I can get, my middle sister is the prettiest. Pretty and pale. Big lips. But somehow I have been given this title. I think its a sympathy prize, since I am most definitely the fattest. Its like "She's the prettiest...if only she'd get that body to match".
To further torture myself my love in life is clothes. I drool all day over fashion blogs (now that the magazines have flown right out of my price range) looking at beautiful art pieces made of silk and pearl and buttons and sticthes and beautiful lies. Can you make that in a size 15? Size 38E? kthxby.