I have done some intensive research and come to the conclusion that I’m looking pretty frumpy these days.
Proof: look at all those chins, those scraggy bangs; if it were a full-body shot you’d see a fair bit of chunk around the middle region. And this was even taken from a downward angle, which is supposedly the most flattering direction:Which would be fine (my frumpiness) except for the fact that I know I have more potential than this. I used to look a lot better. Not that I was ever drop dead gorgeous or anything, but something about how I used to look is better than how I look now.
There’s no denying it: I’ve let myself go. Only I wasn’t exactly sure what I let go; I mean, obviously my hair was longer and a little darker then (darker because I’d died it back to my natural colour just days before these photos were taken). But darker, longer hair doesn’t seem extreme enough to justify an entire body’s worth of difference. And that’s how I feel: like my entire body is not at all the same as it was two years ago.
Determined to figure out what exactly had me looking so much better back then, I delved a little deeper into the Archives of Archives, and lo and behold, look what I found! I was eating really healthily back then! And apparently it paid off!
I honestly forgot that I ever weighed that much—or rather, that little. This morning when I stepped on the scale those numbers read 155, which didn’t seem so bad at 8 a.m. right after I peed and changed my glasses for my contacts (every ounce counts), but now that I’ve remembered what I used to weigh I’m all depressed about it.
I just had to go and research myself.
The part that’s really annoying is that my golden birthday is coming up (twenty-five on 25!) and I don’t want to turn twenty-five thinking that the best-looking years of my life are behind me. (Even though they probably are. [Curse you, self-defeating mind trolls!])
Not to fear, though, because I have a plan: I’m reverting back to my old ways. I know I can do it, because I am now officially the type of girl who makes her own bed every single morning without fail (four months and counting—there should be chips for this kind of sobriety). I am the type of girl who starts university and finishes it. I am the type of girl who can do hard things and do them well.
I can go back to the way I was two years ago. I can get my moxie back.
This is one form of digression I’m pretty sure my therapist won’t be concerned about.
When I get a therapist, that is.
Which I’m totally doing before I turn thirty,