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The Shit That Hit My Fan


This is supposed to be the part where I talk about loving my body once and for all and not giving a flying fuck what I look like. This is supposed to be the after shot of my life after struggling with an eating disorder for the most of last year. If I said that I love myself and am at peace with my body I'd be lying. Loving your body at every stage of life is harder then it looks. Four months ago, I moved from my little city of Victoria to Vancouver. Since then, a lot of shit has hit the fan. March. Why the fuck do things always have to go down the deep end around March? It really seems to be a cursed month for me. For some reason, this March my brain decided to flip a switch again and start the self hate. No one talks about binge eating. Its not as "glamorous" looking as anorexia or bulimia. That makes me angry. No one talks about it because when you think of it, you think of a 300lb women sitting in the darkness with the only light in the room coming from the fridge. And that repulses people. Emotional eating is not the cute Friday night to yourself by eating a whole pizza. Its eating a whole pizza, then after that a tub of ice cream, then after that its three bagels, then after that its rummaging through your cupboards with the only thought on your mind being "FOOD". Emotional eating is a coping mechanism. Think of it as, if ever someones name popped up in your mind that made you sad, angry or scared, the only way that seemed to make them disappear temporarily was pushing it down with food. That was me. And quite honestly, it still IS me at times. I really don't want to get into detail but, some serious shit went down for me the past couple months. Instead of punishing myself by making myself starve like before, I punished myself by eating myself until I was sick. Its so embarrassing to talk about. I'm afraid of being judged so hard, or being looked at like I'm disgusting. But what I know helps for me is talking about it. I feel as if I put it out in the open, that it can't hurt me. If I write about it and some people know, then I don't feel like I need to hide behind a fake version of myself. I hate feeling like a fake. I like to be as real as I can be. My emotional eating blows I'm not gonna lie. I hate it. And I'm going to be upfront about one thing, I'm not a fan of the weight gain that comes with it. Since March 2016, I've gained around 25lbs. Weight gain sucks. Which is really ironic seeing as just last year I was being told to gain weight. Ha! (too soon?) Fuck it. It does suck. Some days I don't even want to leave my house because I'm so embarrassed of my body. I hate it! I'm so incredibly self conscious that I've even changed clothes in the dark because I don't want to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I almost skipped out on visiting my hometown because I was so embarrassed of how shocked people would be to see how fat I've gotten. Constantly I asked my friends, "Do I look fat?" "Do I look like I've gained a lot of weight?" What the fuck! What have I become? I've gone backwards. At times I can just feel myself getting close to the tipping point of what caused me to develop my restrictive eating. As hard as it is for me, I have to love my body. I'm never going to be happy and enjoy life to the absolute fullest if I continue to spend so much fucking time on hating myself. What I have to remember is;

  • No matter how much I weigh, people will still love me. If they don't, they're not worth the time or effort.

  • They're much better qualities about myself then the number on the scale.

  • Do NOT see weight gain or stretch marks as a failure.

This post is an affirmation to myself that I can still push forward in life and say fuck it. That so what if I'm still battling emotional eating? So what if I'm the heaviest I've ever been? SO FUCKING WHAT. I have stretch marks guys! And I'm learning to accept them. I still look back at my photos of when I was my lowest weight and longing to go back to my restrictive ways. But, I think back. I think back to how I was so unhealthy at the time that I couldn't remember what I was doing five minutes ago. That I had a panic attack just thinking about taking a bite of apple pie. I also think about how many people I pushed away. How lonely things were for me. How afraid I was. Going through hell and back made me stronger. Even though I'm still struggling, I could not be happier with the group of people I know now. Growing closer with my family and pushing myself to meet new people has really helped. Before I would coop myself up and not go out. The first few months of living in Vancouver I stayed home and just ate food. Now I know that if I push myself to get out of the house, even just for ten minutes, it really does change my perspective on things. Anyways, the point of this post is, recovery from anorexia is one thing, but finding love and acceptance within yourself is another. I can tell you right now it's going to take me a long time to reach that point. But you know what? I don't care how long it takes. If it take two years or more who cares. As long as I know that its possible to reach self love one day is fine with me.

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