tw: disease ingesting, load( quantities ), self-harm and suicidal ideation
sorry for the long essay onward, but thank you in advance if you performed it to the end.
i struggle quite a bit with troubled eating, amongst other things. now, i don’t think it’s an eating disorder because i don’t suppose that my manifestations are as severe, but it still troubles me a bit. i really want to know — how does one stop obsessing over one’s weight?
i’ve always had mas portrait problems growing up, enforced by my family, my relatives, and eventually by myself. “i m eating”, but i have also starved myself on fad diets. extreme calorie rule, liquid-only diets, mineral water only diets, keto( one of the very best ones ). i don’t think i binge, but i’ve also had intense counsels to oust. i used to make laxatives almost every other day to “be lighter”, to the point that the efficacy of the laxative was lost on me.
i hate visit pictures of myself. sometimes i look in the reflect and i cry, and demand so badly to cut all of my chassis and flab off with a knife. each time i weighed myself, i only got heavier. i danced a whole lot, and if i don’t eat enough then i have fainting spells( like hypoglycemic dizziness ). “ive tried to” not to eat too much, tried to exercise more than i feed, but it never seemed enough , not for me , not for the scale of assessments , not for my relatives nor my parents. my liaison with my form and rehearsal and food and diets have soured and i resent it all. i detest how “i m feeling” in robes that stick to my scalp. i dislike how i look in invests that don’t.
i’m overweight, i get it. i’m physically fit but overweight , no i didn’t have time to go for a run. we’re not eating rice today? sure. i’m sorry my breathes seem tighter than they were before, that the circumference of my limbs have skyrocketed to the extent that my flab stretches the girdles of my shirtsleeves taut.
i stopped weighing myself for 2 years. i spent a year abroad, alone, and eat my load at any hour of the working day, and i think it was the happiest i’ve ever been with meat. and then i came home, and the facts of the case that i’d put on a good sum of load stimulated me feel mortified to meet anyone. i felt depressed. i spiralled into a MDD episode after, and have been stuck here since.
the antidepressants i’m on are thankfully diet suppressing. appreciative? i mean, i don’t regret it, but maybe “i shouldve been”. i’ve lost more than what i’d put on overseas. my papa says it’s a good thing, my mum likes how it inspects, my sister wants to lose weight like me too. i recited, over and over, that it’s because i’m depressed, because of remedies that i wouldn’t be on if i wasn’t thinking about driving into concrete dividers every goddamn instant to the point that breathing hurts.
i wish i didn’t, but i’ve started weighing myself again because there’s a scale in the lavatory i use daily, a flake that others in my family use all the time. i’ve started to be weighed for doctor’s appointments. i hate to admit it, but it generates me pleasure when the numbers creep back down. now, i’m never quenched until the numbers get lower and lower.
i’ve been feeling heavier recently, like i’ve eaten more than i should. i represent, i did have hunger aches, but still, should i have given into the suggest? was i feeding my person, or was i just scratching an irritation?
the weighing scale has been low-grade on battery these past few daytimes. my nervousnes “ve never had” higher. “i m feeling” large. why won’t the scale turn on? how am i supposed to keep track of it anymore?
i hate this round. i’m tired. i preach body positivity but i’m a hypocrite towards myself. how do i stop? i’m not emotionally capable of handling anything more than keeping myself alive right now.
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