frustration

It's frustrating to admit that I am obsessed with my weight. I am weak. I compulsively eat at the drop of a hat, I stuff my feelings in my mouth, and I worry and analyze myself to the point of depression and/or tears. It shouldn't matter as much as it does. This is a repulsive cycle that repeats itself; I try different methods and set goals for myself that are always broken one way or another. Self control has never been one of my strong points, and my tummy tells me so every morning. I have tried so hard to tell myself that I am not as beastly as I believe myself to be, but it's nearly impossible.
Why does my self-hatred have to get in the way of everything? Two nights ago, Zack and I were tripping on acid together and I had gotten french fries, only to be horrified at the thought of eating them and I threw them on the side of the road. Zack asked "Where are these weight issues coming from?"
I wish I knew. I think it stems from my general self-loathing, and because I am such an extremely visual person, my appearance is very important to me. I have goals and images in my mind of how I would like to be, and I am so far from them it makes me feel like trying would be a useless attempt. I am disgusted that my image means as much as it does.
It isn't fair.

I am so young, I should be focusing on other things like art, spirituality, meditating, taking a wack at yoga once more, respecting everyone instead of being as intolerable as I've become, making new friends, and not smoking so much pot. The "munchies" are very possibly half of this continuing eating problem.
This is my prime of life and I want to take advantage of it. Why is it so hard for me?
I guess this is what comes with being such a passionate person. I feel immense intensity from each side of the spectrum; it is a gift and a curse.
I miss when things within myself weren't so complicated.