Girl With An Addiction is trying to lose weight.
If you know me, you'll tell me that I'm being ridiculous, and that I need to be putting on weight, not losing it. I disagree.
An eating disorder is a mental illness, that eats away at your mind and body. It controls you, makes you think you're not worthy of that number on the scales, it manipulates you to the point where all you're doing is restricting yourself from what you want to eat, and what you should be eating.
WARNING: If you think I shouldn't be writing this, then seriously, piss off. I can write whatever I want, and I figured seeing as though I wrote about my suicide attempt last time, I may as well write about this.
I haven't been officially diagnosed, but my psychologist and psychiatrist believe I have a possible eating disorder.
I agree, and disagree to an extent.
Yes, I think I am disgustingly fat.
Yes, I think I will never be as beautiful or as thin as my best friend.
Yes, I am the average weight for my age and height.
No, I do not believe anything you try and put into my mind about me being thin enough.
No, I will not accept any compliments you give me. I say thank you, and that's it.
Last year I was put on some medication. One of the side affects is loss of appetite. Me hating food and wanting to be thinner, along with new medication, lost about 10kg in 8 weeks. I didn't notice the difference at all. I would weigh myself every week and skip meals all the time, in the hopes I would be as thin as those girls who model, with the nice thigh gaps, and collar bones that stick out.
Twisted? Yes.
Did it work? Yes.
All up, I lost about 15kg, and people started noticing. I would cut and cut if I didn't lose enough weight, if I wasn't what I thought was "perfect".
I cut down my restricting, stopped secretly doing x amount of sit ups and star jumps, and was forced by friends and family to eat more.
Finally, I forced myself to stop taking the medication, and over time, the kilos started piling back on. I went from 40kg, to 50kg, and I was finally recovering.
Honestly, I look back now and wish I was back there again, weighing that dangerously low 40kg. I miss being like that, with my fingers being able to touch when I wrapped them around my arm past my elbow, with my collar bones pointing out sharply, and the lovely gap between my thighs.
For once, I thought I was beautiful.
But not beautiful enough.
I started falling into the same trap again at the start of the year, but I was mentally and emotionally worse. I weighed myself even more than what I used to, and I started binging. It was horrible. I would get in such a state that I'd just find whatever food that I could eat, and eat it. I felt so fat and disgusting afterward, that I would cry and cry, and try and force myself to vomit all the food up. I only succeeded in purging a few times, and it was horrible. Horrible not because of the cramps I suffered afterward, not from a scratchy throat and teeth marks on my nuckles. But horrible because it was so addictive. I decided it was too much effort to constantly be trying to purge, so I stuck with exercise instead.
I try doing at least a couple of hundred of sit ups and star jumps daily, if I can squeeze it in without anyone noticing, which is very difficult seeing as though I'm forbidden to be alone...
Counting calories is one of my habits now. I try not to count so much, but whenever I get the chance, I will. I usually spend the first half of break at school counting the calories of everything I plan to eat that day, then I calculate how much exercise I need to do to burn them off. It's consuming, and dangerously addictive.
The last time I tried purging was a few days ago. I drank about 3L of water, a glass and a half of warm salt water. Sitting front of the toilet for a half hour shoving a toothbrush and my fingers down my throat seemed like enough to vomit everything I'd eaten from the minutes before. But, no, I was unsuccessful. So, I cried for about 10 minutes and decided I would better tomorrow, thinner tomorrow. I would not eat anything the next day at all, and if I did, it would need to be below 500 calories.
This is what an eating disorder does, it controls you and shoves these images of "better" people with "better" bodies, until all you can do is obey it, and you lose control of your mind and your body.
If you want an eating disorder, think again. You don't.
One minute you wake up and all you can think of is how much you want to eat. So you eat as much as you can, everything around you, until you’re so full you could burst.
You begin to hate yourself, but you don’t care, because your wanting to eat is fueled by your hate.
Hate becomes your passion. You hate yourself, you hate yourself for eating so much. You want to get rid of it. You need to get rid of all the fat you’re made up of. You need to feel your ribs sticking out of your body, you need to feel the air sucking past your collar-bones.
You desire to be different, like those girls with the gap between their thighs, but better.
You start working out, but things just get worse. You’ve lost 5kg and people are getting worried but you can’t see anything. You stand in front of the mirror everytime you walk past it just to make sure you look nice, and if you don’t, you need to be punished.
NO MORE FOOD TODAY.
You must count all your calories and stay below Xkg. You must go for a run or do 200 sit ups every morning and night.
But it doesn’t work fast enough. Your clothes are almost falling off you, but you don’t care, you’re possessed by this desire to be perfect.
To be thin.
You can’t take it anymore, it isn’t you anymore. You have become the disorder, the disease, the murderer.
You smell of vomit and sick because you need to purge and vomit all your food up after you eat, no matter where or who you’re with.
Your eyes are all red and puffy, but it’s okay, because they will just think you’ve been crying, right?
Wrong.
People will start asking questions.
Why are you not eating at school anymore?
Why are you going to the bathroom all the time?
Why are you so obsessed with counting calories?
You still don’t care, because you’re getting thinner and prettier, and that’s what matters. You’re being manipulated, and you’re okay with it.
Do you love your hair? Not anymore. Everytime you wake up, you're covered in your own straggly, dry strands. You brush your hair everyday, and it just keeps coming out.
You can’t walk for more than 20 minutes or stand for more than an hour because you’ll pass out, or collapse.
But, you still don’t care, because you’re getting thinner. People are finally noticing the beautiful gap between your thighs, the lovely marks on your knuckles from shoving your fingers down your throat, the wonderful way your cheek bones protrude from your face.
You don’t care, because you’re almost perfect, you’re so close to being thin, so close. Just a little more exercise today. Just a little more purging after your 3rd binge this week.
You wake up on a hospital bed with a drip in your arm, and your life slowly disappearing.
You’re dying.
But it’s okay, because you’re finally thin. You can finally be beautiful, and perfect.
You don’t want an eating disorder.
I suppose I wanted to write this because it is something I struggle with everyday. I have to force myself to eat at least 2 meals a day, if not just one.
I don't want anyone to end up like me, or worse. It is not worth it, and you're so much more beautiful than you think.
You don't deserve that, and neither does your body.
Stay strong.
Girl With An Addiction
xoxo :P
If you know me, you'll tell me that I'm being ridiculous, and that I need to be putting on weight, not losing it. I disagree.
An eating disorder is a mental illness, that eats away at your mind and body. It controls you, makes you think you're not worthy of that number on the scales, it manipulates you to the point where all you're doing is restricting yourself from what you want to eat, and what you should be eating.
WARNING: If you think I shouldn't be writing this, then seriously, piss off. I can write whatever I want, and I figured seeing as though I wrote about my suicide attempt last time, I may as well write about this.
I haven't been officially diagnosed, but my psychologist and psychiatrist believe I have a possible eating disorder.
I agree, and disagree to an extent.
Yes, I think I am disgustingly fat.
Yes, I think I will never be as beautiful or as thin as my best friend.
Yes, I am the average weight for my age and height.
No, I do not believe anything you try and put into my mind about me being thin enough.
No, I will not accept any compliments you give me. I say thank you, and that's it.
Last year I was put on some medication. One of the side affects is loss of appetite. Me hating food and wanting to be thinner, along with new medication, lost about 10kg in 8 weeks. I didn't notice the difference at all. I would weigh myself every week and skip meals all the time, in the hopes I would be as thin as those girls who model, with the nice thigh gaps, and collar bones that stick out.
Twisted? Yes.
Did it work? Yes.
All up, I lost about 15kg, and people started noticing. I would cut and cut if I didn't lose enough weight, if I wasn't what I thought was "perfect".
I cut down my restricting, stopped secretly doing x amount of sit ups and star jumps, and was forced by friends and family to eat more.
Finally, I forced myself to stop taking the medication, and over time, the kilos started piling back on. I went from 40kg, to 50kg, and I was finally recovering.
Honestly, I look back now and wish I was back there again, weighing that dangerously low 40kg. I miss being like that, with my fingers being able to touch when I wrapped them around my arm past my elbow, with my collar bones pointing out sharply, and the lovely gap between my thighs.
For once, I thought I was beautiful.
But not beautiful enough.
I started falling into the same trap again at the start of the year, but I was mentally and emotionally worse. I weighed myself even more than what I used to, and I started binging. It was horrible. I would get in such a state that I'd just find whatever food that I could eat, and eat it. I felt so fat and disgusting afterward, that I would cry and cry, and try and force myself to vomit all the food up. I only succeeded in purging a few times, and it was horrible. Horrible not because of the cramps I suffered afterward, not from a scratchy throat and teeth marks on my nuckles. But horrible because it was so addictive. I decided it was too much effort to constantly be trying to purge, so I stuck with exercise instead.
I try doing at least a couple of hundred of sit ups and star jumps daily, if I can squeeze it in without anyone noticing, which is very difficult seeing as though I'm forbidden to be alone...
Counting calories is one of my habits now. I try not to count so much, but whenever I get the chance, I will. I usually spend the first half of break at school counting the calories of everything I plan to eat that day, then I calculate how much exercise I need to do to burn them off. It's consuming, and dangerously addictive.
The last time I tried purging was a few days ago. I drank about 3L of water, a glass and a half of warm salt water. Sitting front of the toilet for a half hour shoving a toothbrush and my fingers down my throat seemed like enough to vomit everything I'd eaten from the minutes before. But, no, I was unsuccessful. So, I cried for about 10 minutes and decided I would better tomorrow, thinner tomorrow. I would not eat anything the next day at all, and if I did, it would need to be below 500 calories.
This is what an eating disorder does, it controls you and shoves these images of "better" people with "better" bodies, until all you can do is obey it, and you lose control of your mind and your body.
If you want an eating disorder, think again. You don't.
One minute you wake up and all you can think of is how much you want to eat. So you eat as much as you can, everything around you, until you’re so full you could burst.
You begin to hate yourself, but you don’t care, because your wanting to eat is fueled by your hate.
Hate becomes your passion. You hate yourself, you hate yourself for eating so much. You want to get rid of it. You need to get rid of all the fat you’re made up of. You need to feel your ribs sticking out of your body, you need to feel the air sucking past your collar-bones.
You desire to be different, like those girls with the gap between their thighs, but better.
You start working out, but things just get worse. You’ve lost 5kg and people are getting worried but you can’t see anything. You stand in front of the mirror everytime you walk past it just to make sure you look nice, and if you don’t, you need to be punished.
NO MORE FOOD TODAY.
You must count all your calories and stay below Xkg. You must go for a run or do 200 sit ups every morning and night.
But it doesn’t work fast enough. Your clothes are almost falling off you, but you don’t care, you’re possessed by this desire to be perfect.
To be thin.
You can’t take it anymore, it isn’t you anymore. You have become the disorder, the disease, the murderer.
You smell of vomit and sick because you need to purge and vomit all your food up after you eat, no matter where or who you’re with.
Your eyes are all red and puffy, but it’s okay, because they will just think you’ve been crying, right?
Wrong.
People will start asking questions.
Why are you not eating at school anymore?
Why are you going to the bathroom all the time?
Why are you so obsessed with counting calories?
You still don’t care, because you’re getting thinner and prettier, and that’s what matters. You’re being manipulated, and you’re okay with it.
Do you love your hair? Not anymore. Everytime you wake up, you're covered in your own straggly, dry strands. You brush your hair everyday, and it just keeps coming out.
You can’t walk for more than 20 minutes or stand for more than an hour because you’ll pass out, or collapse.
But, you still don’t care, because you’re getting thinner. People are finally noticing the beautiful gap between your thighs, the lovely marks on your knuckles from shoving your fingers down your throat, the wonderful way your cheek bones protrude from your face.
You don’t care, because you’re almost perfect, you’re so close to being thin, so close. Just a little more exercise today. Just a little more purging after your 3rd binge this week.
You wake up on a hospital bed with a drip in your arm, and your life slowly disappearing.
You’re dying.
But it’s okay, because you’re finally thin. You can finally be beautiful, and perfect.
You don’t want an eating disorder.
I suppose I wanted to write this because it is something I struggle with everyday. I have to force myself to eat at least 2 meals a day, if not just one.
I don't want anyone to end up like me, or worse. It is not worth it, and you're so much more beautiful than you think.
You don't deserve that, and neither does your body.
Stay strong.
Girl With An Addiction
xoxo :P
