January 27th, 2017
Hey, I’m Sam (for security reasons). I’m 20, and I think I have an eating problem.
I’m not sure when this really started, or why for that matter, but I’ve always had this obsession with being small. I mean, who knows, it could just be a part of the fact that I have a huge submission kink (but that’s a story for another day).
I don’t really think that’s it though. You’ve probably heard the stories of girls with parents that pushed them to be perfect so they start starving themselves and all that. Yeah, that’s not really me either.
Well, my parents are not like that (more accurately my mom), but my mom was obese, and being obese she obviously didn’t like her body. I grew up listening to her everyday talking about hating her body, that no one will love her because of it, listening to her talking about all these new diets, watching her try to starve over and over again. I didn’t have much escape from talking about weight even away from home. While my mom never mentioned anything about my weight, my grandma was very different.
Grandma was thin. And I mean thin. She would never eat more than a few bits, and everything was about appearance to her. For as long as I can remember she would tell me to suck my gut in, to go run around the house a few times, to eat less. As I grew older it got worse. Little “suggestions” about my weight turned into phrases like “Boys don’t like big girls.”. I remember on numerous occasions she’d buy me pants that were a few sizes too small, saying I’d lose weight and fit into them.
Through my early teen years, I was already super small. I’m only 5'3, and I grew up in a rather poor household, so eating wasn’t something you could do whenever you wanted. This was when I hit my low weight(LW) of 113lbs. At this time my grandma would tell me I could lose a few pounds, but I didn’t really think about it enough to let it bother me. My hipbones stuck out, as well as my ribs. My collar bones were defined and l loved my body.
In May of 2014, I started dating my 3rd boyfriend, we’re gonna call him Evan. And everything was great for awhile. Though it didn’t seem like a horrible life changing thing then, I got a job that summer as well. Now, I was a kid that grew up not having a lot of food, never getting to eat out, you know the drill, and Evan was too. So when I started bringing home all this money, I think we spent hundreds and hundreds a month on food. Big Macs, chicken quesadillas, nuggets, Mexican pizzas, Cinnabon delights, brownies, cakes, sweet and sour chicken… we gorged ourselves in food.
I gained weight, a lot of weight. By October of 2015, I was at my high weight(HW) of 160lbs. Just thinking about it makes me sick. I got light stretch marks, my bones were far from being noticeable, and yet, I still didn’t really think about my weight.
On October 24th, 2015, I found out that Evan had cheated on me in the beginning of our relationship. But he didn’t just cheat on me, he did it with eight different women. I could talk about what led to this, what happened, all the details, but again, a story for another day. And when that story is told, you’ll understand the pain I felt. The. overwhelming sadness, the despair, the confusion. Looking at the girls, they were all so small. So skinny and beautiful. I remember looking into the mirror for hours. It was like my eyes where finally opened, and I saw how fat I was.
Everything my grandma had said to me, they ran through my head and all I could say to myself was that she was right. She was always right. I was gaining weight and becoming some gross and ugly thing that Evan didn’t want. So, I decided I needed this weight gone fast.
For the rest of October, I didn’t eat a bite. I did every fucking thing I could think of to lose weight. I made sure I never ate more than a few hundred calories a day, and I exercised constantly. I was always aching, always hungry, always depressed, but I needed to fix myself. After a little over a month, I had managed to drop a staggering 26 pounds before I got stuck. I wasn’t losing fast, and damn it bothered me.
It was around this time that I joined MPA, a site for anorexics to talk about losing weight and problems they’re facing. Let’s get one thing straight, I didn’t think I was anorexic, I just wanted to find ways to lose. It was just a temporary thing, and it was then.
I broke down one night and confessed to Evan that I was starving. That I didn’t feel like I could do this anymore. There was a long and heartfelt and mushy talk. Evan made me feel okay again, and a few days later, I was starting to eat normal again.
The thoughts still hit me a lot, that I was fat and too big and what if he cheated again cause I was gross? But Evan kept making sure I felt loved. For the most part, I was just a normal person again.
Until, I started having the opposite problem. I still loved food, and I still couldn’t stop stuffing my face with it.
Now fast forward to January 6th, my birthday. I remember eating more than I had in awhile, all night was just fattening, fried, heart attacking inducing foods. I ate till I was sick. The next morning I had breakfast with my grandparents, and before I left, I decided to stand on their scale. We didn’t have a scale at our house, so this was the first time I’d weighed myself in weeks. I went in the bathroom, stood on the scale, and then I threw up. I weighed 146lbs. I threw my clothes off and looked at myself. Bones no where to be seen, my stomach might as well of been a beer belly I swear to god. My thighs a mile wide. God, I wanted to scream.
Since that day I have walked five miles a day, I have not exceeded a 300 cal limit on 4 days of the week and a cal limit of 600 on the other 3, I drink a gallon of water everyday, I move and do little exercises at every chance I get. I’m exhausted, I’m weak, I hurt, but damn I am losing.
As of today, I weight 131.7lbs. An amazing recovery, and I am getting back to at least 113lbs. I’m taking MY body back. This isn’t about Evan, it’s me. I can’t be happy without liking my body, and I hate feeling big. I hate being fat.
I don’t think I’d call myself anorexic. I know what I’m doing is wrong, it’s bad for you, but I can’t keep this up. I can’t keep eating. I keep telling myself that I’m not gonna let it go far, that once I get to my goal weight(GW) that I will stop and eat normally and exercise and maintain, no more losing. Yet, a part of me is scared I won’t be able to.
The thing is, when I’m not faced with food (like right now) I can see how stupid I’m being. I can see how I’m changing. Hell, I ate a few fries with Evan yesterday and had a panic attack so hard I almost threw up and then cried myself to sleep thinking I wasn’t going to be able to lose fast enough now. But at moments when there’s food, when I’m hungry and dying to eat, it’s like a switch is flipped and if I eat I’m ruining my life.
I don’t know, maybe I’m fucked, maybe I’m super fucked. All I know is that i can see my collars bones starting to poke out, my first two ribs are becoming defined, hip bones visible when I lay down at least. It’s getting better. Now I’m going to go eat a slim Jim (27.5) so I can ease the hunger pains enough to sleep. Thanks for listening