Ugly

So these past few days I’ve felt very troll like. When I look in the mirror I go ‘urgh’ and start wiping away the mascara residue under my eyes and see how much my moustache has grown in since the last time I waxed it. Sometimes I just stand there and inspect what’s going on. New spots? Cheeky blackhead I could squeeze? Maybe even a rouge chin hair I need to pluck out?

Basically if you’ve ever seen spirited away with the stinky monster seen where he’s seeping out purple gunge, that’s how I feel. Ugly. And not just like oh I’m having a bad day. NO NO! I feel ugly. Like I need to take my face off give it a scrub, fix it up and put it back on.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, I’ve gained a million pounds (not in money my friends oh no) in weight. Yes ever since it hit December 1st it’s been a slippery slope of binge eating, gummy sweets and relentless sandwiches. Which hasn’t helped the skin situation or the fact I keep buying these stupid clothes that wouldn’t even fit a bloody child let alone a 5ft 7 grown up lady person (me) but some how I INSIST it’s because I’M the gross one and I should just be able to fit my colossal belly into everything in H&M that is a size 12. Wrong my friends, very wrong. In fact I may burn those striped trousers because I never want to see my apron like stomach squished into them ever ever again.

I mean I could moan all day about how I’m a rosacea ridden whale with grey hairs and stretch marks but who cares? If someone said these things to me I’d laugh in their face and tell them they are perfect the way they are. Yet here I am roasting myself to a crisp because I’ve decided I’m less than perfect. WELL! At some point when I’ve decided to crawl out of my pity party (need to sigh at least twelve more times and say to lee ‘I’m fat’ whilst sticking my belly out) and gain some sodding self confidence.

I’m going to get a face mask, paint my toes and get back on my (never ending) diet in attempts to be less toad like.

Happy Blipping.