Scutigera coleoptrata

These motherfuckers are ruining my life. I realize that you can't handle the cold and everything, and therefore feel the need to venture into my house, inhabiting my nightmares, but that only leads me to ask this of you; if you can't deal with colder weather, how the hell have you survived for however long you've existed on Earth? There hasn't always been ugly rental townhomes for you to sneak into in order to ensure that you live for way too long, because you assholes have the longest lifespan ever.

Too bad I can't look at you fuckers this close up when you're hanging from my wall. You're actually almost kind of smiling. I wouldn't be smiling if I were you though, I've got a giant can of... any kind of chemical cleaner you could imagine, and I'm not only unafraid of using it, I'm totally gonna. So go ahead and run at your abnormally high speed of up to 16 inches per second, call it a head start, and I'll meet you in the bathroom.

Aww, centipede, what's the matter? You're not so fast and creepy now, are you? I'm sad that it had to come to this, really I am, but you have to realize that this is my house. Go be outside. If I'm come across you out there, I'm less inclined to kill you because I respect your habitat. So please respect mine, and stay the fuck out.

Kay, bye.

I ate myself back into a size ten over the course of the past two weeks. They're not tight-fitting, but I definitely won't be needing to go buy those size eights that I've been eyeing up. I've since gotten myself back on track, and I'm proud of myself for doing so before I gained back everything I've worked so hard to lose. But I knew what I was doing when I gained these few pounds back, deep down anyway. I'm afraid that if I get to a point where I'm no longer considered fat, or even chubby, that I won't have any more excuses to avoid life.

I can't go out because I'm fat and have nothing to wear. I can't dress up for Halloween because all of the costumes are slutty, and fat girls, if they know any better, shouldn't do "slutty". I can't run any further than a quarter mile at a time because I'm fat. I can't get or keep a man because I'm fat. I can't have fun because I'm fat.

The excuses also cleverly disguise themselves as almost positives: I'm meant to be fat, look at the rest of my family. I love it when fat girls make my meals for me because they know what we like, and we know how to make it right. I'm so happy to be seeing average women in magazines, it makes me feel like I'm being represented. "Zero is not a size".

I'm torn between wanting to keep my excuses so that I'm not forced to deal with my ever growing social anxiety, and finally being free of the one thing that has consistently upset me the most throughout my life; my size. Most days, I'd rather just throw out an "I'm fat" than have to bother leaving the house, or even worse, bothering to figure out why I feel so horribly uncomfortable when I go out.

I guess I'm glad that fall/winter has arrived. That will give me time to think about what the hell is wrong with me, and why I (apparently) don't like nice things.