Gross. in Like No One Is Reading

That’s how I feel right now. Really struggling with my body shape at the moment. I’ve gained a significant (to me) amount of weight in a short time and suddenly I don’t recognize my body anymore. Why can’t I see past my stomach without leaning forward? Why are my thighs rubbing together when I walk? Are my boobs bigger? I think my boobs are bigger. Upside? Not really. Means I might need to start wearing a bra again and I haven’t done that for almost 2 years. I hate bras.

I had this overwhelming thought last night. What if he doesn’t like me anymore because I’m different than when he saw me last?

That’s ridiculous, I know. But the fear exists. I think, “He liked me when he first saw me. He liked that shape. He told me all the time that he likes the shape of me. I’m not that shape anymore. What if he doesn’t like the new shape of me?”

Ridiculous, right?

I was doing so well, living the life of a person with a small body. For the first time in my life, I loved my body. I liked looking at it and touching it. Now it’s just… not mine. I don’t want to look at it, I don’t want to touch it, and I don’t want anyone else looking at or touching it because what if it disgusts them and then I’ll have to deal with that rejection and…

Ridiculous.

I have an eating disorder.

There, I said it.

I binge, sometimes for days or weeks, and then I hate myself. Then I go through weeks or months of just… not eating. Nibbling. Snacking. Small meals, maybe. But some days, all I’ll eat is a spoonful of peanut butter because all I can think about is the effects food will have on my body if I eat too much of it.

This has been going on for… well, I don’t know. Fifteen years, maybe 20. I’ve never told anyone, never mentioned it, until recently, and I don’t really talk about it.

I’m ashamed. Ashamed at my lack of self-control. Ashamed for “letting myself go.” Ashamed of my stretch marks that have nothing to do with the 3 children I’ve birthed.

Ridiculous. Ashamed.

Because my mother always told me, “If you keep eating like that, you’ll get fat and no one will love you.”

And there it is, the root of the problem. As a child I was taught that my body was my enemy and I should be able to control it at any cost. My body was shameful and ugly because I really liked Little Debbie snack cakes and she always kept them in the house. Always. And fried foods and ice cream and… Like, my parents were overweight, both of them, but that’s what she’d say to me, how she’d treat me, as if my body shape was the only feature someone might possibly find attractive enough to put up with me. If I was just thin enough and pretty enough, I would be loved and accepted, and now I don’t know how anyone could possibly love me because I am not thin and I’m only pretty in the really good selfies, not in real life.

Ridiculous.