I have often been told that I am not fat, I’m thick.
I have curves. I have cellulite in the places that people actually want it.
But in getting those, I also have it in areas that I don’t want it.
I have gotten out of control. Sometimes I fall, sometimes my knees hurt. It’s hard to live like this.
I can exercise hard and diet properly, but nothing seems to work.
I need to get back to my roots of self-hatred fueled anorexia.
For a while, I was seeing a guy solely because he made fun of me for being fat. He would tell me I was disgusting. He made me weight myself every time I saw him. When I saw him, I wouldn’t eat. I would just smoke and sit. I might eat like a muffin to take my cocktail of medications, but I didn’t eat real meals.
It made me feel light. Free. Like a broken flying bird. Hurt, but free. Pained, but happy. I ended up having to leave him because he was abusive. Go figure.
At my lightest weight in high school, I was around 130lbs. I ate less than 500 calories a day. I was trying to get to under 300. I threw away all my meals or picked at them. No food, only coffee. MyFitnessPal it all. Curse myself if I hit 1000. I never exercised, either. I think I was probably around a size 10.
I’m currently like a 14 or 16 depending on where I go, and I’m at 213lbs. The triggering event seems to be when I went off birth control, but who really knows. I’m stressed out from college, so maybe that’s doing it. I don’t know.
I remember how starving made me feel floaty and weird. Cold. Dizzy. Powerful. The control.
Eating makes me feel warm and awake. Energized.
I need to hate myself more to overcome how good food is.
I am fat, and that’s undeniable. It’s hurting me. It’s causing people to be mean to me. It’s making me hate myself.
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