I thought it would be okay to just talk to my boyfriend about my diet and just try and mirror what he eats in hopes that it would help with staying more on track. Of course, we get into a weight discussion about his friend who is heavier and he makes the comment about how 250 is really heavy and how 'my friend is quite a bit heavier than you'. My boyfriend still thinks that I am under 120 lbs of what I actually am. I've never told him how much I weight, he's asked and attempted to guess but every time he does I can't get myself to answer him. I know he will be absolutely disgusted by me, the thought of being heavy just grosses him out. He claims that "I fell in love with you, I just want you to be happy with yourself, which you're obviously not but it doesn't matter how much you weigh to me." But... if it really didn't matter then he wouldn't be so open about his disgust for anyone who's overweight.
He just kept going on and on about how he could never imagine carrying "a second him" around and how it would be difficult to just breathe. I couldn't really do anything but cry and wish that I could just disappear. I know that I am fat, that I am disgusting and that he will never want to touch me or look at me. But to hear him say things like that just made everything so much worse. He said that if he was 22 stone (300 pounds) that he would just starve himself for 3 months because he wouldn't be able to stand it. But if he did that then he would have excess skin that he would need to get surgery for to get rid of because it would be fucking gross.
I just feel like I am never going to be what he wants. If I lose weight I am going to lose my tits and ass which are the only things that he likes on me (he claims to like everything but they are the only things that he ever compliments) and have a bunch of excess skin that he is going to find gross. If I don't lose weight... well, I'm going to be fat and disgusting everywhere but my tits and ass and they can be found on a much prettier girl than me. I'm never going to be physically attractive no matter what I do.
To make things that much worse, my grandmother brought home all of the leftovers from a birthday party. Including two large cups of blue cheese dressing and half of a heavily frosted sheet cake. Exactly what someone who is struggling with her diet needs. And of course, the cake was left on the table so anytime I walk out into the kitchen to get water or some fruit I have to stare at it.
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