One day I am so happy to be alive, so entirely satisfied with who I am and where I'm headed - or at the very least not caring where that is. I can walk down a hallway full of people and ignore them all; I can be happy with my body, take it as a protest against boxed reproductions of some inane ideal that ordinarily I fight in every way but this one.
Then the next day I want to crawl into a hole and never come out again, hating who I am, what I do - my goals, my dreams all shame me and appear stagnant and useless. I am a fat blob who can't figure out what she wants and can never match up to what is expected. I am a failed Bais Yaakov rebel, caught in limbo unable to be what I want to be because my time was wasted learning how to be something I don't want to be during those defining years.
Apparently these days eventually balance out. In any case, there's always a sugar high waiting around the corner. Among other things...