Fuck you for giving up on me.
I don’t need you anyway.
(Source: fatfeathers)
(Source: fatfeathers)
I’m all alone. Alone in my mind. Alone in my heart. Alone around people. Alone with my family and friends. The room is full of people but I’m still alone. I’m alone when I wake up and alone through each awful day. I’m alone in my horror. I didn’t ask to be alone. I’ve never wanted to be alone. I fucking hate it. I hate that I can’t speak to anyone. I hate that I have no one to call. I hate that there’s no one here to hold my hand, hold me, tell me everything will get better. I hate that I have no one to share my dreams and ambitions with. I hate that I no longer have dreams. I hate that they too have left me alone. I hate that when I scream, when I scream till my lungs hurt, I’m screaming into emptiness.
The Fear.
Sometimes, she envies fat people. In quick, fascinated looks—in shops, restaurants, supermarket lines—she drinks in their grotesque, but mesmerizing affliction. With each surreptitious glance she memorizes the shape of every unfortunate body. Her mind is full of sick fleshy images—round bellies, watermelon-sized butt cheeks, and bloated faces—parading around in elephant-sized t-shirts as they remind her of what she could become. Her own body is of average size, something she’s profoundly ashamed of. Fitting in has never been a problem, but she’s increasingly, if not irrationally, disgusted every time she looks in the mirror. She’s, average, just average. And it hurts. She longs to stand out, but there isn’t much to work with. She comes to hate her body and all of its stubborn qualities. Standing naked in the shower, she pinches the folds around her stomach and arms, trying to will them away. Despite her efforts, she remains in anatomical purgatory, never too fat but never too thin. She’s convinced, however, that the scales tip more in the latter’s favor. And it’s her worst fear. Too fat. On her bad days, she dresses impossibly casual in a loose shirt or sweater to cover up with. On her worst days, she stands in front of the mirror for hours, analyzing her body from every angle before crawling back to bed for the day. So, she envies fat people. She envies their openness, the way that their bodies are exposed to the world for what they are. No illusions. Sometimes, in a fit of frustration, she wishes she was fat so that she wouldn’t have to hide behind baggy clothes anymore. Of course, she knows that she would rather die than live like that.
.
I always think that friends should be there for eachother. And one of the things that friends should do is boost confidence. Unfortunately my friends are complete twats don’t do that. Infact they do the opposite. I was sat with my friend and she told me that she didn’t think I was pretty. I was like gee thanks. I mean, I’m not pretty and I know that. But if it had been the other way round I’d have told her she’s really pretty (which she is), even if I didn’t think so, because thats what friends do. My friends always says she’s fat, but I ignore the fact that she’s actually got a muffin top and tell her she has a lovely figure. To boost confidence, like friends should. Not knock it down. And I was just thinking to myself, I must be even uglier than I thought for even one of my best friends to tell me I was ugly. ‘Friends’ are just wonderful aren’t they?
I’m going to see the dietitian soon….
I’m actually really worried. In one way I’m praying that my recent binges haven’t affected my weight too much (dream on) and I have lost a little, then again, I hope I’ve stayed the same to keep my doctors off my back… Damn it.
Bingeing
It’s amazing how one moment of give in your self control can lead to hours of exercise. Maybe it’s a good thing… I’m at the hospital again tomorrow for a weigh in. I don’t think my weights changed that much since last time….
scarletconfessions asked: thanks for the follow<33 loving your blog
Thank you :) I shall follow youback my dear :D
Grrrrr!!!
Again with the hate mail!! Have you not read my, “What the fuck is this” page??!!
It. Is. An. Illness. Not a choice. So fuck off telling me what to do ok??
Depression is not something that can be cured by saying, “you’re a healthy weight” or “you’re so pretty” I am not looking for attention. I can’t help feeling insecure, ugly, fat, useless and everything else. I can’t stop the thoughts that run through my head. Unless you actually have an ED you will never ever understand the unbelieveable amount of self hatred, confused thoughts and insecurities I have. So basically, shut the hell up!!
