It feels strange. I feel as if twenty two has changed me somehow. Like my body has gone through some strange sort of metamorphosis without my knowledge or allowance but it did while I was none the wiser. I have the body of a full grown woman; from the waist down.
Suddenly my hips are wide and although my thighs do not touch they are thicker than they have ever been in my adult life. The ass that used to sink into my back pockets is now full and round and stands to attention as I wait for the bus. My hips curve into my waist like rolling hills up to the peaks of my ribs and resting upon my covertly small breasts. I suddenly became reproductively ready from the waist down.
Despite my jutting hips, my buoyant ass, and grabbable thighs from the waist up I appear to be disappearing. My face is growing peckish, my wrists and arms are thin and bony, and an assortment of bones are starting to show from underneath my clavicle. I have shrunk from a full C cup to a mid B and my tummy is tinier. But still I am furious about my lower half. I can’t understand how I have suddenly become bottom heavy and despite losing a substantial amount of weight have remained bottom heavy.
I don’t want the feminine womanly curves. I want the pencil straight body and pin thin legs. I don’t care much for my body.
I don’t want my butt.
I will never not reblog this
if you consider a woman less pure after you’ve touched her maybe you should take a look at your hands
Reblog if you do too. Just to prove that it is more normal than what people actually think.
First time posting in a while.
Truth is I’m disordered. Not how I usually am (or would really like to be to be honest) but in a strange mindful sort of way. I’m aware of food and how much I hate it. I’m vacillating from restricting to binging and it makes me so ugly and dirty and fat.
I’m aware of my body. I’m so horribly aware of my face and arms and thighs and tummy. I’m so painfully aware of my size. The anorexic mindset is there but the behaviors are coming and going. I’m aware of the weight of my body and the weight of my thoughts and the weight of my words and beliefs. Everything has so much weight.All of this awareness is weighing me down so completely and horribly and I’m suffering.
I want to be thin. Not curvy as my boyfriend prefers me. I want the heroin chic, sleek, bony, drawn out, gaunt, pale, deathly thin appearance of the Juan of yesteryear. I want to be thin. So thin that I can be walked through and looked over. I want to be air. How I long for the days of chronic pain and suffering that my dear friend ANA has brought me. With the suffering of the body came an exquisite thinness.
All though… I’m still stricken with neuropathy. Even a year after ‘normalized’ eating occurred and long periods of remission my legs have a tendency to fall out underneath me and twist and turn in their sockets. The neuropathy is there even without the thinness that inspired it. The fragility of the disorder still plagues me even in periods of normalcy.
They say beauty is pain but I just get so pissed off that I have the pain and no beauty to accompany it.
As of yesterday I weighed 144.2 pounds. That makes me nine pounds over an acceptable weight and nineteen pounds over what I would like to be. So I have decided to put awareness into action.
I will be thin and gaunt and pale and all of my fragility will come with the physical thinness that inspired it in the first place. If I am going to ail I will be skeletal. I will rid myself of curves and embrace the bones that hold me together.
Today I have decided to embrace my disorder and embrace all of the troubling consequences that come with my dear old friend.
The crippling pain that kept me chained to my bed for months, the mental dullness, the loss of person. I will lose myself in this just as I have done before time and time again. I’m ready to be a casualty of Ana. I desire to be the walking shell of skin and bones that I once was.
I am prepared for the pain and isolation that comes with this disease. I unfortunately glorify the destitution.
There’s no point to a guy yelling, “Hey sexy baby” at me out of the passenger window of a car as it speeds past. Even if I was into creepy misogynists and wanted to give him my number, I couldn’t. The car didn’t even slow down. But that’s okay, because he wasn’t actually hitting on me. The point wasn’t to proposition me or chat me up. The only point was to remind me, and all women, that our bodies are his to stare at, assess, comment on, even touch. “Hey sexy baby” is the first part of a sentence that finishes, “this is your daily message from the patriarchy, reminding you that your body is public property”.
- weekday mornings, wake up at 8:00AM
- drink some water or tea and eat some fruit
- go for a run at 9:00AM
- if you have to go into work at 9, wake up at 7 and run at 8 instead
- get ready for the day
- stay hydrated, drink a water an hour
- eat when you’re…
This is my favorite post of all time
Well yet again I have received the “Gift of desperation.” Only this time it didn’t come in the form of a rock bottom. It came in the form of the promises and being immensely blessed by God ‘doing for me what I cannot do for myself.’
Hi my name is Juan and I am an addict.
I have achieved many things in the past short weeks that I didn’t ever think possible and my gift of desperation is the fear of losing everything I have achieved to the manic episode I’m slipping into against my will and the eating disorder that’s ruining my life. So I’ve decided to do the one thing I know that will save my life; I’m returning to the program.
Yesterday I made seven meetings out of seven days out of my ninety and ninety and it felt like another major achievement on my belt. I was able to get my sponsor back and I have hope that I can return to serenity. I’ve asked her to give me homework and start me on the steps as soon as possible. And she’s agreed.
I’m just very tentative and pensive at the moment. I can feel the mania brewing. I’m waking early and unable to fall back to sleep. And when I say early I mean random hours of the night such as two, three, five, four; you name it I do it. And I am pensive and tense because I know that if I fall for the luster and glam of the manic high that soon this summer will resemble summers’ past. I certainly believe that bipolar, much like addiction, at least for me, will be progressive and fatal.
Last summer was very traumatic. I was in the throws of my disease. I was not using nor was I drunk but I was manic and starving. And because of this I wound up very injured for a very long time. Not physically, no, I actually would rather have dealt with broken bones. (I actually did have a fractured wrist from an alcoholic boyfriend I was dating when he crashed his moped with me riding on the back. He was too drunk to drive and I was too codependent to take his keys.)
I wound up making very bad decisions and getting raped because of it. After that my restriction turned into binging and purging and I gained a lot of weight. I was hospitalized six times. And I was kicked out of school.
And when I crashed I crashed hard and I was to look at the shambles of my life. The depression was as severe as the mania and lasted just as long. Eight months up and eight months down.
Things started to get better and I stopped doing what I wanted and just as I said God was doing for me what I could not do for myself. I will be going back to school in the fall. I am in therapy. And now I am doing a ninety and ninety and newly sponsored again.
In three days I will be sober for four years and five months. It is a blessing that I haven’t relapsed in all of this. But I realize that my disease has chosen different venues to present itself. I am powerless over many things but not my recovery.
My name is Juan and I will keep coming back.
starting skinny girl diet ~
Day 1 starts tomorrow.
Yes, I know im supposed to start on a monday but fuck it