We're making progress

Dear Mean Guy,

I still don't have the nerve to tell you these things.

Once again:
You've made it harder for me to believe anyone who wants to spend any time with me, and not suspect their motives.
You've made it more difficult for me to see myself realistically, without seeing the disgusting fat mess that you seem to think I am.
You've made it less easy for me to think that anyone has a genuine interest in knowing me in any capacity.
You've made it harder for me to look at the progress I have made, physically and emotionally, and be proud of myself.

But for once, you haven't made these things impossible. I think I'm getting smarter.