(Source: staypozitive, via skumoftheearth-deactivated20120)
-
Monday, 9th January
-
Saturday, 19th November
-
Friday, 4th November
-
Friday, 4th November
Thin. Such a ridiculous word. Even the letters are thin. T H I N. Even when you say it out loud the word sounds thin, almost like a whisper. Thin. Fat is just the opposite, only three letters and still the world feels heavier. The A kind of drags it down, making it even heavier.
I hate mirrors but I love them too. I hate them because I hate what I see and I can’t remember a time when I didn’t. Still I need mirrors. I’m addicted to it, my reflection. I lose myself when I look in the mirror, I drown in details as I examine every inch of my body. All I see and all I hear is “fat”. Everywhere. Never good enough, never “thin” enough. Define thin? What is thin? In which context can you define it? If you have an eating disorder there is no such thing as “thin” and there never will be. Even when you’re skin and bones your skeleton will still be too big, too fat.
I’m not saying that I am fat, I’m saying that I feel fat. I feel fat, disgusting, lazy, chunky, gross.
It makes life difficult because this feeling is so intense. The first thing I do in the morning is stare at my reflection. Usually this defines the rest of my day, this feeling. If I feel smaller than the previous day I might feel an ounce of happiness creeping in from somewhere but if I don’t it’s just this one word, the heavy one; fat. It makes it difficult to get dressed because I don’t know how I look. I put on jeans and I stare at my reflection once more. Fat. The size doesn’t matter. I can look at the size and I know it’s small compared to other sizes, but it’s not about the size. It’s about how I feel, and I still feel fat. I see fat looking back at me. I see huge thighs and wide hips.
All over tumblr there is bullshit about a thigh gap. That’s not true because you wont and you don’t see the gap between your thighs, you see what’s not the gap between your thighs and that’s always going to be too big.
I spin in circles around the mirror, hoping I’ll look different from another angle but nothing changes. I can feel a huge frustration building up inside, self hatred and anger. I take off my jeans again, stare at my thighs once more, angry. Look for another pair of jeans, put them on. Does it make me look different? Do I feel better? “Thinner”? No, I don’t.
I’m still disgusted and I want to hide away in layers of clothes, hide it so that others can’t look at me, see me or think I’m fat too. Sometimes I don’t know, what if I am fat? What if size doesn’t matter, what if it’s all an illusion? The feeling of fat is so intense that I lose touch with reality and everything gets twisted, distorted and blown out of proportion. I feel fat.
This ritual in itself takes time. 10 minutes? 20? 30? An hour? How many outfits do I try on? What makes me look more decent? Is there anything I can wear that makes me feel better about myself? Less fat?
I was in a hurry this morning. Showered, took care of my tattoo, got dressed and then I obsessed about how I look. I was in a hurry and luckily I didn’t pack shitloads of clothes, I had kind of decided what to pack and force myself to wear it - no matter what. Hoping that the feeling of “fat” will stay inside my head and that “fat” wont be the first word someone thinks about when they see me.
It’s been a long day. I’ve been to the group therapy for six hours, I survived the waves, the huge tsunamis of anxiety that makes me think I’m about do die, I ate breakfast with my parents, lunch with the group, I sat there, listened to all the words, participated, talked to people, laughed, tried to stop myself from crying, I walked around, drank coffee, drank tea - it all sounds normal, doesn’t it? Except from the anxiety part.
But inside my head I’m still fat. While eating breakfast I’m counting calories, adding, dividing, anticipating, calculating. Still I’m able to have a conversation and force myself to chew and swallow. I feel disgusted when I finish but I don’t have time to worry about it - still I do. The urge to purge is lingering in the back of my head - but I can’t. I have to resist, I have to force myself to carry on. I wonder if my winter coat makes my legs look smaller because it’s big. In therapy I spend half my time listening to what’s being said, I’m there but I’m not. My mind is on my thighs, how they look when I sit down, if I look thinner if I cross my legs, my hands, gently touching my thighs - I feel fat. I’m keeping my hoodie on, it makes me feel that I’m hiding some of this fat, makes me feel less self conscious. I look at my hands. Can I see my bones? I look at the gap between my fingers and I start looking at everybody else’s hands. I conclude with being fat, having fat hands and fat fingers.
I walk around the lunch buffet, dividing and parting healthy and unhealthy, counting calories, deciding what to eat and what not to eat, what I want to eat but still can’t eat. I walk around the table and add a bit of this and a bit of that. Something in my heart goes cold and my hands tremble when I can’t decide what to aim for. What the hell am I supposed to eat? There’s like a hundred alternatives and still there’s nothing edible! I can’t stop, I can’t stand there - lost. If I stall I know I’m gonna look like an idiot so I have to keep going, have to add something to my plate, have to spin around looking for a place to sit down and eat. Walking across the room, fucking worried. What will they think of me? Fat? Am I fat? Is this fat? Am I eating fattening food? Will my thighs look twice the size if I eat this?
And then there’s eating. What do I eat first? In which order should I eat what? Is there anyone looking at me? Anyone seeing me, seeing what I see, seeing what I feel? Is it obvious, is it visible? Am I fat? I still feel fat. Chewing, swallowing, nervously. Trying to have a conversation at the same time, run into some difficulties when the pressure get too high “change the fucking subject or I’ll put my fork down!”. It’s tense but the subject changes and I continue eating. Continue rationalizing. “You need to eat this, you need to be able to concentrate, you don’t want to pass out, faint or have a seizure - everyone else is eating too, you don’t want to look stupid if you stop eating, keep eating, you’ll burn it off later!”
After lunch I feel full and disgusted. Fat. My stomach feels full and bloated, I’m worried that I ate too much. I want to run to the bathroom and flush away these feelings but I promised myself I wouldn’t.
When I was asked how I was doing this morning I said something and added that I haven’t purged in 34 days. My dad made a joke about it and said “that’s amazing, it used to be 34 minutes”. Everybody laughed, I tried to smile
Back in therapy I continue worrying about my thighs and my hands. Still fat, hasn’t changed much during the last couple of hours. My head is busy trying to determine how many calories I ate. A bit of this and a bit of that? How much could it possibly be? I have no idea and I worry about how much walking I’ll have to do later to make myself feel better, to make up for this. I usually don’t eat because it’s too hard, in my fridge at home I have two apples and 70 boxes of ensure plus diet soda. Ensure is okay, I don’t need to worry about that. I know everything that’s in it, it doesn’t make me feel bloated, I know how many calories it is - to me it’s safe. It’s not eating, it’s surviving.
I’ve been drinking Ensure for exactly two years. I don’t need to go to the grocery store - I need to go to the pharmacy. That’s where I get my nutrition. In a box, chocolate or cappuccino flavored.
Eating is so complicated. I can’t even begin to describe why eating is complicated because there’s a million reasons why. Nothing feels safe to me, everything scares me.
After the group ended I went back to the hotel and here I am, typing. I’ve been analyzing the picture of myself, still concluding with being fat. If I’d seen this picture being tumbled somewhere I wouldn’t have thought the person was fat at all. But this is me and I still feel fat. I still feel guilty about eating lunch, I don’t know if I still am full or if it’s just my guilt making me imagine that I am, so that I wont eat anything for a while.
Inside my head I’m still calculating intake and how many calories I’ve burned doing this and that. Constantly on my mind, it never goes away. I might seem like I’m distracted, I might seem like I’m having a conversation or as if I’m being present - but I’m not. Only halfway because the rest of me is still obsessing about fat and how to not be fat. Thin. Is there anything like it? Does “thin” even exist?
I feel fat. Typing this has also made me feel sad. Fat was the first thing I thought about this morning and I’m still obsessing about fat now, ten hours later. It’s a constant worry that never goes away. You can’t see this because it’s all in my head. What makes me sad about this is that it’s the same thoughts looping around inside my head every single fucking day, every week, every month, all the time. If I could free myself from all these thoughts I wonder how much interesting stuff I could fit in there. Something meaningful and useful. Something exciting that makes life worth living?
It’s not about being “thin”. It’s about surviving this; day after day. It’s about biting your lip, chewing your food, swallowing and then dealing with all the emotional reactions. It’s about getting through it. It’s about forcing yourself to stay alive, it’s about moving forward even though you’re not.
And I feel fat. Did I mention that I feel fat? Because I do. Every moment of every day I feel fat.
(via as-thin-as-fuck)
-
Friday, 4th November
