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I Cried All Day, and I Don't Plan on Stopping.

  Thursday September 1 st , 7:30pm   I just made a delicious fucking dinner. I was this close to ordering from Little Venice (my local greasy spoon with an Italian bent, only place that delivers, garlic knots to DIE for), but I closed out the tab. “Thirty seven bucks?” I thought. “I can do one better.” I don't know what it was that gave me such a peppy attitude about it.   Earlier today, I was crying in my car, thinking about how fucked up my relationship with food is. It mostly always has been – there were a few years in there where I was feeling pretty good about it, then I gained 20 pounds, joined weight watchers and quickly developed some kind restrictive eating disorder. I got so skinny, but weight watchers told me I was still not “goal weight” so I kept pushing myself. I took so god damn much pride in it; I thought I was at my best. I look back at photos that I posted and I barely recognize myself.   Right around the time the pandemic started, I had hit my lowest weight, and

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