111.2
bmi 17.5
it's not good enough. Nothing ever is. I want to get out the lap top and really write why. Why am I stuck on this? Why do I feel like meeting a number is like meeting a quota at work. Why I'm so destructive in myself to justify or correct the dysfunction in my life.
The other part of me is grateful. Grateful for my wonderful husband. My job. My friends. My family.
I have to push all that away though. So I can hide. Hide from everyone that makes me happy so they won't know the truth. A truth I can't voice reasonably. A truth that I myself don't understand. It's too embarassing and complicated to talk about with anyone. I am an analytical thinker. I love to phsyco analyze everything, but this, this disorder... I don't understand.
I don't want to get better. Better means fat. I know I'm not ready.