It's 4:17 and I've only eaten a cookie. The family is bringing food around five. I just have to hang on until then, and when that time comes, I have to keep images of what I am and what I want in my head. If I let myself give in, I'll hate myself forever. There's no longer any room for the tiniest mess-up. I refuse to be 120 again, and I'm too close to it. I don't want to fail any more.
Pep talks rarely ever work.
Maybe this time it will, since I've been pep-talking since three.
SHIT, they're here, the food is here.