So I haven't had any luck in getting a date in the real world or online, so I'm feeling understandably bitter. I am so sick of my city and being ignored by men because I'm fat. There is even a guy at work that I get along with and like; we have the same sense of humor, always talking, have a lot in common, etc. But he's even said stuff about 'big girls' and I know that if I ever had a chance with him, I would first have to lose a sh*tload of weight to get past the 'friend' stage.
In my bitter state, I was cruising the internet and I happened to find this lovely blog that confirms what I have believed all along; that fat girls are a joke and are only good for laughs. Here's the link: http://www.tuckermax.com/archives/entries/date/tucker_ ----- s_fat_girl_hilarity_ensues.phtml
I wish I could call Tucker an as*hole and curse him out and maybe feel some form of satisfaction of leashing out my inner b*tch, but it's so completely pointless. What he writes is the cruel truth; that men my age find dating and (god forbid!) f*cking a fat girl so repulsive that they would rather drink cyanide, cut off their own d*ck and set themselves on fire. The last guy I dated back in May confirmed it when he would pretend we weren't together in public, basically treated me like a second class citizen and then 'disappeared' after a month (and no, he is not buried in my backyard...yet).
The thing that kills me is that I know as a fact that I
would lose weight if I were walking everywhere. Never mind the fact
that having Hashimoto's makes losing weight nearly impossible.
But when I was studying in Florence I lost 30 lbs in 2 1/2 months!
I love how my body looked as a size 8-10. I was still curvy but I
also looked hot. Now, I'm way to dependent on my car, but
walking or biking to work and to home through my
neighborhood is just a death wish. And because of that,
I'm back to my ugly self and I'm feeling the hate. I am
pissing my life away; I am 23 years old and I live the life of a
nun. It would be so much easier if I was a post-menopausal 60 year
old, at least then I wouldn't expect anything, or worse, have
hope.
I almost have half a mind to see a psychiatrist and demand some
kind of anti-depressant that squashed my sex drive and emotions. It
would make life so much easier, to go to work and to home and not
feel anything at all. I would rather be dead inside than continue
with this facsimile of a life.
Wake me when they are about to pull the plug.
