Dear Journal:
It has to go. It has to fucking go. I'm so sick and fucking tired of living with it. I'm tired of looking at it. I don't think I'll ever be happy if I can't even look at myself in the mirror and be happy with the person that's looking back at me. Just a little surgery. A tummy tuck and a breast reduction. That's it. I want it gone. I want it gone so bad. I'm ready to cry. No, I'm crying. I want it gone so bad. So bad. So bad...