Come on, skinny love, what happened here?
*Warning: Strong language is used
What the FUCK was he thinking?? You can’t just read your daughter’s journal. No fucking way.
What the fuck? Fuck!
My dad read my journal while he was here. HOW did he think that was okay? And I didn’t even hear it from him. I’m so pissed right now. I’m embarrassed because it’s my personal journal where I write anything I please and it’s not for my fucking father to read.
I have that kind of anger right now that’s bubbling in my stomach.
This is not okay. One of the worst boundaries to cross, and I’m at the point where I wouldn’t even bother answering if he calls me, even though he’s all the way across the country and probably just wants to hear from his daughter. His self-absorbed, bitchy daughter.
I’m kind of stressed out right now because my dad’s visiting and all he can see is the weight I’ve lost since returning home. He can’t see how well I’ve been eating and that I don’t need to be treated like a baby. I know I can just prove it to me over the course of this week, but it just further brings to my attention how well I’ve been doing and that makes the unhealthy part of me queasy. I like to just try not to think about things like that most of the time.
But before I get hate - I don’t know, I’ve seen people complain about this before - I am VERY thankful that I have parents who care about my health and my general well-being. I’m just very easily frustrated and don’t want to be put back under the eagle eye. I love my dad very much.
*Warning: recovering anorectic rant.
I went on a lovely bike-ride and felt really pumped and happy once I got back. I’m guessing a good amount of that was due to the fact that I was listening and lip-synching to “Dancing Through Life” on my back back inside.
Anyway, I run into my mom and I start telling her how good I feel and all that silliness. But she decides to interrupt me by sternly saying, ‘Keni, are you beefing it up? Because you’re really looking too thin.’
I’m sorry, Mom, but I didn’t ask.
Bye bye, sunshine. I know I’m not losing weight because my prom dress still fits perfectly (tried it on again yesterday), and I’m actually a bit worried because it feels a bit constricting at the top which makes me worry because the seamstress made the alterations very snug and I still want to be able to wear the dress again if I get the chance. But I’m not worried about it fitting tomorrow because it’s just a day away.
I just entered a scholarship contest for Seventeen, but after looking at the official rules for the contest, I feel as stupid as a frosted flake.
At least I didn’t say caveman.
The semi-finalists are going to be selected based on the following criteria:
Passion - 50%
Appearance - 50%
Because you have to submit photos of yourself as well, you know? Some contest, huh.
Bah, I have to get weighed tomorrow. ‘Tis very annoying and just brings up a lot of anxiety. I only get weighed every other week, but I wish it was more like once a month. I really don’t like it. And then I don’t feel in control because everyone else knows the numbers except for me, and I feel like that sort of gives them a false right to condescend. Oh, people. Oh, weight. Oh, everything.
The majority of me is scared of losing weight.
Really odd, right? There’s that inevitable part of me that screams ‘HELLZ YEAH’ at the prospect, but that’s just because that’s been my instinct the past I-don’t-even-want-to-count-how-many years.
Why am I scared of it? My therapist has already picked out a weight that I can’t drop under or, no questions asked, I’ll be sent back to Utah. Not fair because
A) I don’t know my weight or what that number is…though at the same time, I really don’t want to know either.
B) Weight isn’t the only indicator of my recovery, and with this new threat of theirs, I feel like they’re [my parents and therapist] treating me as only a number - which they claim ‘bullshit!’ on.
I just don’t want to do anything wrong because I feel like they’re overreacting here and they don’t understand. I don’t in ANY way think I need to go back to treatment, and I say that in total earnest. I still feel better than I have in YEARS; they’re just getting all sweaty because I’ve dropped weight since returning home.
Do you ever see really obsessive posts about celebrities on Tumblr and just think to yourself, ‘I am so sorry, [insert celebrity’s name here]…’
Add a facepalm for good measure because the apology really isn’t complete without it.
I mean, I feel so bad. I know they must have prepared themselves for the worst when it comes to some of these downright dirty things being said or expressed about them, but it really bugs me. Every face you see is human - including the face of Chuck Norris, people. They deserve some respect.
Note: piping up with sexual favors you would do for them (especially if you’re underage) does not count. Not in my book, anyway. And this is my blog, so this is my book.
But really, if my blog was a book, every copy would probably end up in a fire.
I am so tired of everything being about eating disorders. And by that, I mean that I’ve tried not to dwell on the subject so much since I’ve been back home, and it is SO NICE. I talk about that kind of stuff with some select friends, and that’s a fine balance. But I don’t even follow that many ED blogs anymore - even the “recovery” ones.
If I have to go back and hear about intuitive eating or talk about feelings this and that again, I am going to stab something. I hate treatment because I hate talking about food, feelings, weight, trauma, etc ALL THE TIME.
I am so done with all of that. I can’t go through that again. I won’t.
You know how you sometimes just want to confess your lowest weight - your prized secret - to everyone in the hope that someone will tell you that it was enough? Enough as in, not enough. That they’re amazed you’re still alive.
I’m trying to learn to keep my lips zipped. I just want to use their horror to give me satisfaction, and if I don’t get any horrified or even caring response, I feel like a failure. I give others way too much power over how I feel about myself.
I regret when I tell people, so why do I? I just want it to have been enough. I want to have this message flash in my mind (finally!) that I don’t need to try and lose more and more. That it’s okay - I can try and live healthily now. You fulfilled your…what, anorectic purpose? That’s a sad life to “live”.
I’d even settle for accepting that I don’t think my lowest weight was low enough. As long as I accepted my own words and not solely relied on the words of anyone else.
I feel so stupid sometimes. Look, it’s the little girl that doesn’t want to eat. Oh, boo-fucking-hoo. You don’t have to go to school? They expect you to not get out of bed somedays? Man, you have got it easy!
I look at my sister, and she’s busy, busy, busy! Always doing this, always doing that. Meanwhile, there are days when the only social interaction I get beyond my family is when I venture out to Starbucks with my mom, like today. (Even though I already made coffee at home this morning.)
‘Tall dark [roast], please.’
You know how you said you were the stereotypical match for someone with an eating disorder, Jess? Well, me, too. Makes me feel like a cookie that’s been cut just like the rest,
It kind of sucks sometimes when you ask a friend or family member if it looks like you’re eating too much, or that you got a plate/bowl that’s too full, and they say
…Just eat what you can.
Like, what? Wrong answer. Ouch. Finger gun to head. I know it’s said with soothing intentions (especially because I’ve been struggling lately), but I am an expert at letting myself twist around words and things.