
Darkmoon Queen
Specialist
- Apr 1, 2020
- 396
So I have a past of what I'd say is atypical anorexia. I had all the symptoms but I never actually got underweight for my height (until I got chronically ill but that doesn't count). I never wanted to be as thin as possible, being hot was of paramount importance to me. That's why I was never anorexia nervosa. But my diet was.. restricted for over ten years. It was part of how I managed my mental pain. People admire you when you're thin, as if you have Godlike willpower. They'll still shit on you eventually but the buffer was nice.
Well, my chronic illness and a controlling relationship later and I went up to 10 stones (140lbs). I hated myself. And I fully believed I could no longer lose weight because my illness is hormone related. I tried exercising strenuously every day for months until I was a sweaty pile and I never lost a pound. I got firmer but it was like my fat had just gotten harder and it pissed me off so I stopped.
Since the pandemic, I've been on my own. I cleaned up my diet and in today, I'm back to 8 and a half stones (119lbs). In my heyday, I hovered around 115lbs but I set myself the goal of 119lbs and now I'm there.. I just feel so whatever about it.
I think the strange thing is that back then, I'd admire myself in the mirror and think I was really hot shit and now I don't even feel that thin anymore. I feel like the scale must be wrong or.. ...or maybe I was just never that hot? Nah, I was, people responded to me. But my old jeans are still too tight for my liking. Were they always this tight? Can't have been. How did I ever admire this shit.
I've just achieved what, to me, was EVERYTHING... and I really do feel nothing. I thought getting thin again, I might get my personality back pre-illness. But I just feel dead inside and I don't fucking care.
And this is what my version of suicidality is. Working towards things, achieving them and finding that the prize wasn't enough to keep me afloat.
Well, my chronic illness and a controlling relationship later and I went up to 10 stones (140lbs). I hated myself. And I fully believed I could no longer lose weight because my illness is hormone related. I tried exercising strenuously every day for months until I was a sweaty pile and I never lost a pound. I got firmer but it was like my fat had just gotten harder and it pissed me off so I stopped.
Since the pandemic, I've been on my own. I cleaned up my diet and in today, I'm back to 8 and a half stones (119lbs). In my heyday, I hovered around 115lbs but I set myself the goal of 119lbs and now I'm there.. I just feel so whatever about it.
I think the strange thing is that back then, I'd admire myself in the mirror and think I was really hot shit and now I don't even feel that thin anymore. I feel like the scale must be wrong or.. ...or maybe I was just never that hot? Nah, I was, people responded to me. But my old jeans are still too tight for my liking. Were they always this tight? Can't have been. How did I ever admire this shit.
I've just achieved what, to me, was EVERYTHING... and I really do feel nothing. I thought getting thin again, I might get my personality back pre-illness. But I just feel dead inside and I don't fucking care.
And this is what my version of suicidality is. Working towards things, achieving them and finding that the prize wasn't enough to keep me afloat.