11 November 2017

Not okay in my own skin

Thighs that rub together and look chunky in tights. That feeling of a bra digging into flesh on my sides. Clothes hanging to my bloated stomach that has suddenly become a lot more prominent than it was. A face that is round and sides that are square, not narrow. Thicker. Wider. Bigger. Heavier.

And it’s all my fault.

That’s how I feel right now. I’m confused. Because I still don’t my allow myself many pure carbs, I rarely have sweets or chocolate. I can’t remember the last time I ate a slice of cake but hey, I’m fine. Not. I blame myself because I have stupid greedy habits, like needing mints or sugar free hard boiled herbals to calm anxiety about getting ill. I have jars of dried fruits that I pick at and I drink two hot chocolates a night out of habit and fear of being hungry over night (hangover from strict anorexia) and I don’t rub, I don’t exercise regularly and I hate myself for it.

It occurred to me at the till in a shop the other day - when a white chocolate kitKat caught my eye. Not only would I not buy it, ever. But that there is often FEWER calories in my evening meal than that chocolate bar. Really. This was something I was going to write down like a friend suggested to make a stock take of anorexic habits - that’s one. Fear of snacks other than fruit or controlled popcorns or seeds.

I can’t explain the disgust I have for myself for eating the bits I do without measuring. The dried fruits, the booze or the extra spoonful of cereal. I just want to Bin it all. I realise this is anorexia. I just don’t actually think I have the tools to accept this is okay.

I shouldn’t have seen the scales the other day. They’re playing on my mind. I don’t know how I’ve eaten the same and gained 3kg - unless it’s the booze, mints and lack of exercise - in which case my overwhelming instinct is to STOP The extra eating and actually move more again. I say I don’t like skeletal, I don’t. I just don’t like being this size either.

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