Nightlock and Wicked.

I haven't been upset about my weight in a while.
Or, like, I mean... I'm always kind of upset about it, but tonight... I don't know.
There was something about this four-pound-in-one-day kind of gain that just made me so fucking upset.
I don't want to say sad and I don't want to say pissed, because that's not really it.
I'm just... not happy.
No, more than that.
I'm fucking UPSET.
I don't know if that word means the same to me as it does to any of you. Someone out there probably understands though. That feeling that's not sadness or anger or frustration, but a complicated mixture of all of them; an emotion that can't be pinpointed as being more or less of one or another.
But at the same time I don't feel like I'm feeling anything at all.
At least right now, which is a while since I was downstairs and weighing myself.
I could be around a whole pound lighter by now. Three instead of four, because I pissed when I came upstairs and I have to pee now again...
Just I worked hard this weekend, to be able to start on Monday with a lower weight to be able to fucking destroy myself this week.
Destroy in a good way, of course.
But then I eat two graham cracker sheets (that's what the serving size thing called them, I think) with frosting and a potato rectangle thing and ruin my whole day.
(Did that an hour or two before I weighed.)

I've been around the same weight for more than a year. Much more than a year, I think.
Not a year and a half though I think... maybe close.
I am the definition and should be the poster child for complete and utter failure.

Laterz.