Epiphany?

Negative. Epiphany. Negative.
I wrote this on the bus a couple of days ago. I was frenzied, urgently needed to eat (and I don't mean hungry). As the words jerked furiously across the back of scrap papers the need to stuff, to injure, to sabotage began to dissolve. I was lighter. Just a little. There must be more...

I look around at the fat women on the bus, on the street, at the store. I compare myself - desperately trying to find all the ways in which I am different from them. She has a bad haircut. She doesn't wear anything flattering. She frowns. None of these distinctions matter. I am that fat women. She is me. And I hate her. I violently and viciously hate her. I hate her for what she is, for what she eats, for how she looks, what she is doing to herself. I hate her for not hiding all this. I hate her for showing me what I am. Lost. Sad. Alone. Furious. Hungry. Fat. Empty. Hollow. Hollow not like the usual hollow made with a careful trowel, hollow made by a reckless back hoe.
Your shirt bulges at the buttons. Your watch cuts into your wrist. You have fat rolls on your neck. You're greasy. You're lazy powerless worthless disgusting repulsive. You're me.

These are the hard days. The alone days where I don't figure it out and wallow. Baby steps mean a glass of water with junk food. Or a walk to the end of the block. A small smile. Pain rage hate. Paralyzing. A steady stream.

You know that woman on the bus. She is me. I want to have compassion for her but only can do so when I separate her from what I am. She is suffering. She has forgotten. She doesn't remember that she is more than the jiggly yellow fat tucked into folds and sags. I am more than the sum of my impotent, rippling parts. I am under here.

Thought for the day: you don't drown by falling in the water, you drown by staying there. - Edwin Louis Cole.

Weight today: 275.4. A.k.a. No progress.