Unless you have depression no one can fully understanding the debilitating effects it can have. For some reason. And I don’t really know why. I’ve stopped taking my meds. I know I need them. As when I stop this happens. But I don’t like taking them. It’s horrible relying on medication to get you through each day. It’s a horrible feeling. And I think that’s why I’ve stopped. I don’t want to become reliant on three little tablets. I want to do it myself. But when I stop this happens. Today I’ve literally spent all day in bed. I haven’t washed in days. I haven’t changed in two days either. I went to bed fully dressed and haven’t changed since. Until 10 minutes ago I hadn’t brushed my teeth or my hair. And it took all my strength to do that. I hated doing it. It hasn’t made me feel better. It took every ounce of Will power to do it. But I’ve done it. The next step is to get changed. And that will be a mission. I hate all my clothes. They don’t fit or they make me look fat. So what’s the point in changing. It’s just going to cause my mood to dip even more. But I need to. I need to get out of these clothes. I still haven’t washed. I can’t bring myself to shower or bath. I can’t bear the thought of getting naked and seeing my body. I haven’t changed my underwear in days. But it doesn’t bother me. I don’t care. All I want to do is disappear. For this mood to Stop. I’m moody. I’m irate-able. I’m snappy. I’m fed up. I’m depressed. I’m argumentative. I’m hard work. I hate who this has made me become but I can’t seem to bring myself to take the meds to make it stop. It doesn’t make sense. I hate being like this. I don’t like it. I don’t enjoy it. But why can’t I make it stop.
That’s it. I want to give up. I want to restrict so bad but just don’t seem capable. I’ve piled on the pounds. I’ve just tried all my size 8 (uk) size 4 (US) and there all such a tight squeeze. The buttons and zip only just do up. But then my belly flops over the top. It’s disgusting. Realistically I need the next size up. But I don’t want to buy it! I’ve gone up two dress sizes in two months. It’s awful. It’s out of control. I need to do something about it. I need diet pills. I need to exercise. I need to restrict.
It’s not getting any easy. I still feel fat. I still see fat. Photos that are taken of me I look obese. I look down and see my belly bugle. I wobble. I have flab. I have a pot belly. It’s safe to say I completely and utterly detest myself. My face is chubby. I can’t bare how I look. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I went liposuction. I looked yesterday and diet pills and I’m deadly close to buying them. I’m ugly. I’m ghastly. I look awful. I’ve never hated my body as much as I do now. O literally can’t stand it. I hate it.
I’ve put on so much weight. So much. I went to the doctors the other day and he weighed me. 3 days later I went to see my care coordinator and I’d put on even more weight. I’ve put on 14lbs in three weeks. It’s such a gain that my care coordinator is trying to think up excuses to justify it and thinks I may have a cyst. It’s nonsense. I don’t have a cyst. I’m simply fat. Disgusting. Ugly. I tried some clothes on today and they cling to my body rather than just hang there. They show of my stomach. The round pertuding lump. I look pregnant. All my clothes are getting too tight for me. Even the size 8 ones. I’ll be size 10 (uk) size 6 (US) soon. I’m piling on the weight. It’s hideous. It’s ugly. It’s out of control. I hate myself. I detest myself. I’m ugly. I’m fat. I’m disgusting.
So today I went to the doctors because I keep being sick. And he weighed me. I didn’t look. I didn’t want to know. He knows all about my anorexia. But when he weighed me he said it allowed. I now know my weight. I instantly converted it to lbs and then worked out my bmi. My weight has never been this high. I nearly weigh 10 stone! My bmi is the highest it’s been. I’m massive. I’m fat. I weight a tonne. He’s confirmed it. From now on I’m restricting. I’ll only eat three main meals and no snacks. Then I’ll try and get rid of one meal and do two main meals then get rid of another. I will loose this weight. I have to. I’m massive. I’m huge.
I’m fat. I have rolls. A muffin top. Love handles. You can no longer see my hips. Even when I duck my stomach in it doesn’t look how I want it to look. That’s how fat I am. I’ve gone up two dress sizes in two months. It’s out of control. I can’t cope with this. Everything I wear makes me look obese. Tight fitting clothes show of my stomach and arms so I can’t wear that and baggy clothes just make me look like I’m hiding my fat and make me look bigger. My boobs have nearly doubled In size which makes me look massive on my top half. Just everything about me is fat. I have a double chin. All the time. I have w round plump face. I have thighs that wobble and touch. I have rolls and and can pinch more than an inch. I’m obese. I’m ugly. I want to diet so bad but I can’t seem to stopEating. I’m also sick of saying up fat to friends and family and they just bat it away and say I’m not. Well I am! I bloody am! No one goes up two dress sizes as quickly as I have. I’m sick of people not listening. I see fat. It’s all I see. My eyes aren’t lying. I’m ugly. Fat. Massive. And I’d rather people agree with me than just say I’m not when I clearly am. I wish I was skinny. I wish I was bones. I wish I was back to my lowest. I wish anorexia would come back
I’m so fat. So very very fat. So obese. So bloated. So ugly. So fat. But there’s nothing I can do about it. I don’t have the motivation to go for a run. I don’t have the money to join the gym and I don’t have the body to go for a swim. And on top of all of that I can’t stop eating. I eat three main meals a day and pick in between to. All day long. I’m sick every time I eat (the doctors investigating it) but even that doesn’t stop me eating. I crave food all day long. I eat them think about what I can next. I detest myself. I’m so ugly. So fat. So hideously disgusting
Today I cut. Today I reached for the razor. Today I sliced my leg. Today I was sick through eating. But that doesn’t stop me. I still eat. That’s how fat I am. Not even being sick stops me. I still eat. I still pick. I’m fat!
So it’s been a bit of week. This week my period cane back which made me feel bad. Made me feel fat. This week I got accused of being an attention seeker and making it all up. That couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m not an attention seeker. I don’t choose this. I didn’t choose to get ill. I just am. That really hurt. And then to top it all off I now have to go for an endoscopy because I keep being sick. I’m petrified! What have I done to my body! Is this anorexia related or something more sinister. I’m terrified 😦
Today my period started. Most people would see this as a good thing. It means I’m at a healthy weight for my body to function properly. It means I can have children if I want them. It means I’m better. But for me it doesn’t mean any of that. For me it means one thing. I’ve got fat. My BMI will no longer be in the underweight section. I’m now in the healthy section. Instead I don’t see it as healthy. I see it as fat. I’m now a long way away from looking anorexic I’m now looking fat. My body is now at a weight to function and I should be happy. But I’m not. I hate that it’s happening. I hate what I’m doing to my body. I miss being anorexic. How does that make sense? I’m seriously considering quitting my job as head baker as I am surrounded by food all day and spend all day nibbling. I hate hate hate what I’ve done to my body. I hate the wobble. The flab. The rolls I hate it all