Okay, so I used to have a bit of an issue with food. Nothing cray-cray full-on anorexic, but it would go a little something like this: eat only dinners (small ones) all week, then eat a bunch of junk one day, feel horrible about myself, and resume not eating much until the next week when all seven days’ worth of hunger built up again. Besides the days when I ate nothing, my proudest day was eating only a serving-size of Triscuits (which is 4, in case you’re curious).
That was a while ago, about seven years, to be exact (holy fuckadoodledoo, I feel old). It wasn’t super horrible, I guess, as far as eating issues go–I lost my period and prided myself on staying in the double-digits of the weight range, which was not so great because I was (and am) tall, but I never grew lanugo or started cutting myself or wearing tiny fisherman’s sweaters. And after a while I just stopped doing it, because hey, I was hungry.
But at the risk of being a little over-dramatic, it has fucked up my relationship with food ever since. (Also, I hate that phrase, even though I just used it. “Relationship”? The only people who have “relationships” with food are fat, because the rest of us have real-life people for that. But you get the idea.) Even though I started eating normally again, I still hated myself for every single thing I put in my mouth (that sounds ridiculously emo, I know. Fuck you guys, go eat something) and felt guilty after every meal. But that shitty side effect (mostly) went away.
But the past couple of weeks, I feel like I just got sucked back into a tube of oh-fuckkery, as far as eating is concerned. I’ve been working out every morning and stuff, which is good, but now I’m also geeking on calories and whatnot. SEE WHAT HAPPENS WHEN I TRY TO BE HEALTHY?
In all honesty, though, this is no buneo. It’s even more fucked up because I don’t want to go back to that, but in some horrible way I do; it’s like an old friend. If you’re nodding in agreement, you are also fucked up.
This isn’t normally the type of thing I post on here, but it’s my blog, and if blogs weren’t made for posting dramatic self-absorbed accounts of personal weirdness, then what are they for?!? Okay, fine, fine, I’ll post something about sex after this.