I can really relate to this post. I was battling with Anorexia for a long time, granted I am not out of the waters with my Eating Disorder but I thought I was beautiful. I really thought that being able to count my ribs from the back to being 117 pounds just 17 pounds shy of being just 100 pounds made me feel like a goddess. No. It was pure fucking hell. My boyfriend hated the site of me, he wanted me healthy he wanted me to eat and not run to the bathroom and throw up. He wanted me to stop waking up at 2 in the morning in a panic to go and work out. He wanted ME back like how he met me at 150 pounds. I wasn’t happy and with life events I felt ugly and I wanted to die. I am now at a healthy weight and I am proud and yet I hate myself. It is a mental illness that I know that I am not the only one facing. It was like I knew I was slowly killing myself but I didn’t care. I was skinny I had a thigh gap men were talking to me none stop I was getting attention and not the it should be,
I had no ass no breasts I had nothing to hold or to love. People were telling me that I was perfect and beautiful and lovely and I am so hot. No. No I was not. I looked like death and I could see the look in my Grandfather’s eyes how much it hurt him to see his only granddaughter slowly killing herself. For what? FOR FUCKING WHAT? And this writer is right–you can’t just get over it wake up and start eating normally or just be happy with yourself. FUCK NO. I have been battling with myself for 6 years and I sometimes think it will never EVER go away. And if any of my friends read this or who follow me on Facebook see this, this is the real deal. It hurt with your words to those who picked on me calling me names. I was lead to believe I was a worthless fat ass that no one cared about.
I am looking forward to the day I have the strength for a real recovery. For now I will battle with myself. I will get through this. I didn’t die. So that is a good thing right? I will beat this fucking demon that controls me. I will love myself and my body someday.
Just some…fucking day.
I could have sworn I wasn’t human anymore. I had just finished a high-intensity interval training workout with an empty stomach, but with all this energy running through me, I still felt stronger and more powerful than ever. Perhaps I was developing some kind of superpower.
Little did I know this manic state was simply caused by adrenaline. I was not a superhero and I was most definitely not becoming an angel or any sort of beautiful, ethereal creature. My body was in starvation mode, trying to save me while I was slowly killing myself.
Whenever I was having a bad day — or a “fat day”, which was the term I used — I only had to close my eyes and slide my hands up and down my torso. I smiled almost every time, because I could feel every single one of my ribs. Mirrors were the…
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