a storm is brewing.

it's been raining here. all day long. thunder? booming. lightning? blinding. rain? never ending. so with nothing better to do, i decided to help my aunt (the nurse) with this "free health clinic" thing that she was practically in charge of. it was a bad idea.

they had like, zero clients because of all the rain (which blocked a highway and expressway, or so i hear) and so they had a few of us stragglers as guinea pigs. i had to do all these health tests. guess which one was first? bmi. oh boy. they asked me to get on the scale. when i got on (fully clothed plus my sneakers, might i add) it said one-twenty-six.

one-twenty six. what. the. fucking. fuck.

i tried to explain feebly that i had weighed myself as one-seventeen point eight just a few hours ago from the comfort of my home, but the woman gave me that "yeah, and i'm a fucking supermodel" look. then she added "even with your clothes, one-twenty six? that's a bit of a stretch." but she "agreed" to put it at one-twenty. which wasn't much better. then she was all like, "oh my, eighteen? this chart for bmi starts at twenty." so she asked someone what to do. they said just go with the twenty to thirty age group for me. which i said, but she ignored. (fucking "adults" that can't do their jobs. pain in the ass.) so she looked at the chart and came to the conclusion that i was morbidly obese. (i'm not even sure she really LOOKED at me once.) she called across to the doctor, "IT SAYS MORBIDLY OBESE. I'M NOT SURE THIS CHART WORKS FOR HER." doctor jogs over, looks at the chart. "no, that's for males. if anything, she's on the low side of normal weight." by this time, i'm completely embarrassed, not to mention i feel like a fucking hippo. next table, i APPARENTLY have no blood pressure (because someone doesn't know how to use modern technology). the blood cholesterol checking lady hates me (because i'm not afraid to speak up to her) and she squeezes and stabs my finger for a drop of blood. i could've just slit my wrists and given it to her at that point.

by the time i was done, i was just ready to curl up in a ball.

AS IF THAT WAS ALL THAT HAPPENED.

blood glucose checking lady was nice. i think her name was sherry. or something. she asked me when i ate last. i couldn't lie to her, she was so sweet. so i told her the truth, that i was fasting and have been since the ninth. unfortunately, my aunt (may have) overheard. and one of my best friends. so i go to the car and turn on some jeff buckley, which always helps in rainy weather, and he pops up near the door and taps on the window.

he repeats "let me in, come on" until i actually let him in. he looks at me for a few seconds before saying, "what are you fasting for?" i make up some bullshit reason. he doesn't buy it. "you don't need to fast, you'll end up looking like k-." k- is the girl i mentioned before with the picture and the slideshow and blahblahblah. SHE got on the scale with her bag and clothes and it said she was one-thirteen. she took her bag off and was one hundred and six pounds. she's like, five eight. they concluded that she was underweight. and she was sad about that. (i wanted to say something like, don't give me another reason to not want to be near you.) she's not even really "skinny" looking, it's kind of like she's absurdly shaped. i can't explain it. whatever. anyway, i told him when i'd stop fasting. then he said "don't fast for that long, you'll die." and he was so sadfaced that i would've eaten then just to make him feel better, but something in me wouldn't let me do that. make myself unhappy for someone else? not this time.

so i kicked him out of the car. felt like shit afterwards. did apologize to cheer him up but it didn't help me feel better.

i wrote i hate myself all over a page in my notebook. i still feel so fat. i was starting to feel better since i've almost reached my goal of one-seventeen pounds, but now i feel like i do weigh one-twenty six, you know? i look in the mirror and i see one-twenty six. and i know he'll be totally heartbroken every time i reject food, but i can't help it. i'm such a fat ass. i mean, i'm sitting on my ass right now, writing this. and if it wasn't still raining, i would be outside, running until i was ready to pass out.

i wrote something else in my notebook.

i won't stop until i'm lighter than air. or dead.


i don't mean dead literally, but metaphorically. i feel dead right now. dead weight. taking up too much space. goddamn. i might extend my fast for another week. what i really wish i could do is extend my fast for another three weeks. but i don't want to push it. because my aunt would take me to her hospital and be my nurse. she's protective like that. maybe i might just fast as long as i can. i don't know.

a lot of shit happened today that pissed me off, but mainly all that stuff i mentioned. this is gonna be a great week. especially since we're due for more rain tomorrow, and the day after...

i can't wait.

honestly.