you strange, ugly thing (moved from livejouranl)

i look in the mirror and i cover my cheeks with the stubby fingers on my small hands and i tell myself "one day you won't need to do this. one day these disproportionate hands and the slight droop in these cheeks and the rotting flab on this everything won't matter because there's gonna be other things more worth looking at. there won't be much there to rot anymore. you won't even be able to smell it, if you don't come close enough."

and i tell myself these things just like they're true. like i believe them. but it feels like i just keep getting fatter and i just keep making it worse. 

i feel so lost. it's not as easy as it was, no more stepping on the scale and knowing how well you did that week. i'm gauging progress through other people which doesn't really do anything because i don't ask them directly and they're all too polite or too rude to know whether or not they mean anything they say.

i'm unsightly and i wish i were as nice to talk to as i once was. i've been touring this show for years and i swear, i just got the hang of it. now, though, even though people are giving me the same ques as they used to, i can't remember the lines anymore.

my flesh melts and the plastic bag catches it and nobody laughs because it's weird and it's grotesque and it doesn't make any sense in the context of the plot. i don't know my lines anymore. i can't speak because i am melted and i have no mouth.