Fuck you.
That's right, I said it. Fuck you. I'm almost 40 so I don't care what you think. Or anyone else.
You've been my "friend" for 20 years. The kind of friend that acts nice to your face and then gossips about you behind your back. The kind of friend that compliments you and then judges you. The kind of friend that's stuck in middle school because you only care about yourself.
I've lived with you by my side for decades. A shadow I can't escape. A pain from which I can't be relieved. Over so much time you've become a friend, a familiarity. Only a friend because I have had nobody else.
Sure, you're nice. You're pretty. You're confident. But really you're broken and rotten and poisoned. Rotting from the inside out. And this house is collapsing. I see your true rottenness. I see your deceit. I see your ugliness. I see your inability. I see how I've built so much around something that's fake. You're fake.
You're the fake that says crap like, "Don't gain the quarantine 15!" and "Lose the baby weight!" You're a fucking liar and I hate you. I hate you for making me feeling like I'm not enough and never will be enough. I hate you because you make beautiful women feel like garbage because they don't look the way you want, which is impossible. I hate you because you say shit like, "Nothing tastes as good as thin feels." Actually, you're wrong. Lots of stuff tastes pretty damn good and I like eating it. I don't care what people think.
We're not done here. I'm not done with you. You lurk around every corner willing to pounce and I'm ready to kick you back into the hole you came from.
Watch out.
Read more about my story of standing up to diet culture: https://www.thegoodlogger.com/post/2019/07/16/epiphany