I am feeling the need to word vomit. I have been thinking this through for about an hour and a half; what I want to bitch about, whether I should even write it, if I should let it be published to where anyone, everyone or no one can see it. At the point that I am typing this, I still haven't decided who may or may not get to read these ramblings.

I am a self-reliant person, and my shit is none of your business. I waffle back and forth between spilling my guts to anyone and holding everything in. I'm so angry, all the time, and I will soon be 30 and I feel like a horribly underwhelming waste of potential and air. I dropped out of college because I was aimlessly wasting money towards no particular goal. I have literally put on 100 pounds since high school graduation and I HATE my job. I am also starting to dislike the company I work for. For my entire tenure at my job, I at least respected the company. Holy Shit, it seems like over the last year, people sitting in offices in fucking Oregon have been putting a lot of effort into making me and hundreds of other people miserable for 40 hours a week, at least. Not to mention the fucking customers who tell me everyday that I'm stupid, I'm a bitch, I'm being unfair, they hope I die or, my personal favorite, Jesus hates me. Fuck those bitches.

My weight gain has mostly been recent. I weigh more now than I did when the week I had a baby. I had a baby that many people may or may not know about. We had a beautiful baby that we gave up to a wonderful, loving couple. It's a decision that I have never regretted, but I am curious how things would be if he were here. His life is much better than any life I could have helped provide for him. But back to the weight gain, I watched the suicide weight come and go. As the emo teen I was, I always said that if I reached a certain point, I just die. Well, I'm sure my parents are glad to know that I'm too chicken shit to ACTUALLY off myself. But at the weight of 265 pounds, find solace in the fact that it would be hard to hoist myself off the ground and hanging ropes would probably snap. Yes, I'm guilty of self-depreciating "humor." I'm fat because I drink too much soda and I am chained to a fucking desk everyday with my goddamn headset. Then, once I'm not at work, I'm too lazy or I feel too much like shit to do anything about being fat.

My best friend asked if I was coming to my reunion this weekend. There's no way in hell. Why? I'm too goddamned ashamed of myself. I work in a menial service job. I dropped out of college. I'm fat. I married the man of my dreams, who decided that he loves me, but he can't be with me and moved out. Not to mention, the current center of my universe is a job that I would rather wake up and be scourged instead of go to on a daily basis. But hey, getting fat got me nice boobs. There is an upside to all this! What was I thinking?

I have no self esteem, and I can barely force myself to be seen in public. I am too busy hating things to be able to fix anything. I'm not writing for responses, I'm not writing for pity. I have no idea who will or will not read this, nor do I care. If your name was included in those who can see this, it's because at some point, you made me feel cared about, and I care enough to let you see my dirty laundry.