Friday, 24 January 2014
And now for some self-hatred
My eating habits would make a dietician weep. My lifestyle would make any doctor weep, which is why I don't tell them. During the last few months, I lost both weight and girth, apparently mainly in muscle. I'm all flabby and weak, my skin got awful and since I'm getting a surgery in around two and half weeks and inflammation at the incisions is a big no-no, I'm taking clindamycin to kill the acne. At day 3, it's not working at all and for some reason, I'm all itchy and I grow spots or inflamed hair follicles or what the hell it is in odd places. Acne-like things just shouldn't happen on one's shins. Anyway, I was scratching and looking around the surface. That lost weight means a nasty flab of skin, I poked it around and discovered several ugly wide stretch marks. I had a bad time. Yesterday, a drunk kitchen help-hand yelled at me for being condescending; it was my wishing her a nice evening that nailed it, I guess. Today, my deputy told the receptionists to tidy up and one snarked back that she's going to tidy up when she decides to and that my office is terribly messy and she doesn't tell me to tidy up either. BossDad arrived later on, told me that it's all basically my fault and when I sighted, he yelled at me that I'm lazy and spoiled and expect everyone to bow to my hypochondriac feelings. And then I discover stretch marks. I started crying.