I'm really horrified to weigh myself again. It's been a good...month, at least. I think. Last time, I was around 140-142. I haven't been eating a lot, if at all, most of the days, and I certainly look smaller. But there's just something about stepping on the scale.
The reason I haven't been eating isn't a good one. Let's just say that uppers are appetite suppressants, and I'm finally giving in to Phoenix culture. Or maybe I'm just getting back to my white trash roots. I can accept that. I'm afraid to go back home. I don't want to leave Becka, my apartment, or my appetite suppressants. I never feel like I'm getting enough done grad school-wise, and I never feel like I get enough sleep. I crashed for fourteen hours yesterday. Up for three days, crash for twenty-four hours. Repeat. I swim a lot; it's too hot here to wear anything but a bikini. Food makes me gag.
I can honestly say that I'd rather stay here all summer. I don't want to go back. Home just makes me depressed and there are no distractions. If I go back I'll just get sicker, and by the time I get back to Phoenix I'll be so miserable that I'll go on another week-long bender and come out on the other side looking all Black Snake Moan, just like last time. Haggard. I look haggard.
