size.

This is horribly un-recovery-friendly, but I miss being thin so much. I’m internet shopping under extreme duress, because my mum wants me to order something that my brother can give me for Christmas, even though I’ve said I don’t mind, and I’d rather have the money and get something when I see it, or else he could pay for my new year dress, or… but anyway, no, let’s have some body image pressure, why not.

So I’m looking at this:

And all I can think is how beautiful I’d have looked in that a year and a half ago, how little and petite and narrow-waisted. That girl in the picture, my body used to look exactly like hers. And in fact, that girl’s 5’10, and I’m 5’2 (and a half!), so I was absolutely tiny when you think about it.

And all these faded sweat tops hanging off sharp shoulders, and exposing the delicate knit of collarbones. All these fragile wrists and concave thighs, fuck, I miss that. I want to be whisper-thin. I want to be half invisible – not the invisible that people look right through, the sort that they crane to see, that they breathe right in. Like a light you can’t look directly at.

And I can’t

And I couldn’t, not even when I was trying. I mean, before I decided to eat three meals a day, and not vomit up everything I eat, and attempt to live like a normal person. Even when I was desperate, early last summer, going days and days at a time eating nothing at all – even then, I couldn’t get rid of the weight, I couldn’t, it wasn’t working. I’d broken myself, thoroughly. My metabolism was just a myth. I had nowhere else to turn, I had no other alternative. The truth is, I had to start eating properly, because it was impossible for me to eat any less.

It’s hard, because I’m actually feeling better in my skin most of the time, now. I’m sort of adapting to my size, to the new clothes (the ones that actually fit). Even when I weighed in this morning, and holy fuck it’s exactly the same how is this even possible, I was just… I couldn’t even react to it, I was just like, ‘you know, I’m over this.’ I wasn’t even upset. But then I see a photo or something – an unexpected or forgotten photo, one I didn’t have control over – and I’m just any old chubby white girl, when this blog is proving to myself that I don’t eat like a fat person – not even fat, just average, just the upper end of normal, wide, chunky. I didn’t use to be! God, I swear I never used to be.

But what can I do, what can I do.

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