Just a few weeks ago, I had a conversation with my partner in which I'd announced that I had decided that I was going to accept my body at this larger size if it meant that I could just live my life eating normally and he was fucking elated. Now I'm all like, "Uh, nevermindsies."
Weeks ago, the folks at Unique Vintage sent me this year's plus-size bikini. I had planned to wear it this weekend, imagining, in my crash diet mentality, that I would have dropped most of the 20 pounds I've gained since last year's bikini by then.
I could sit here, burping, with my stretched stomach pressing against my waistband, hating myself for a few hours. Or I could just stick my finger down my throat -- so easy, like nothing ever happened!