I’m a bit triggered right now.
My cousin is getting married in January and I need to find a dress for the wedding. I still have my high school prom dress and considered wearing it. So, I tried it on to see if it fits.
To my terrible dismay, the dress doesn’t fit anymore. That dress was tailored especially for me. It’s a beautiful red chiffon dress with beading in the bodice and a low back. I kept looking at myself in the mirror with a face of horror.
“That’s right,” the voice in my head kept saying, “you’re a fat-ass now.”
*Sigh* I’ve never experienced this before. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I’ve literally NEVER had clothes not fit me. I now have a bunch of pants in my closet that don’t seem to fit very well, as most of the weight has managed to seep into my thighs and butt.
I used to be able to control myself when I ate. Now I can’t do that anymore. I eat, and eat, and eat. I know, I know, it should be part of recovery, you’re probably thinking. Whoever said recovery was easy? But it feels terrible in the process. I want my small frame back, my jutting bones, and people calling me thin. Now I’m just…average.
It’s difficult, appreciating this body when there seems to be nothing special about it. I miss being small, or extra small for that matter. Sometimes I think that the root of my problem stems from a fear of growing up, being an adult, and having to fend for myself in this world; in addition to losing what makes me unique.
In my last appointment with M, she told me, flat out, that I’m not fat. I don’t believe her. I can’t. The rational side of me believes her, but the irrational, savage side of myself keeps screaming in my head. It keeps screeching “FAT ASS!!! FAT ASS!!! FAT ASS!!! YOU’LL NEVER AMOUNT TO ANYTHING NOW!!!”
And that’s only part of what’s screaming inside my head every second.