135

i remember the first time my thighs touched when i walked.

i was 19. it was when i lived in hawaii after i had graduated high school.

and i remember being equally disgusted and horrified.

i remember thinking back to every single thing i had eaten in the last months to figure out how i had gotten to this point. up to then, i was barely over 100 pounds and i was 5'6". and somehow, i reached 135.

1.    3.    5.  

and i just about died. inside, i did.

it wasn't a mystery. i had had a break down of sorts. i went on a 'i am going to eat two batches of cookie dough a week and nothing but pizza for dinner' binge for a good two months there. in that time period i went from my size 0/1 to a size 5.

a size 5.

i was flabbergasted.

that was close to or the same as my mothers size.

that statement seems oddly placed, or possibly insignificant. but it isn't.

i grew up in a house where my mother was never thin enough, never beautiful enough. where she had to put on her face before she left the house, always, even to take us to school in the morning. in a house where she would workout for a short time and then get discouraged and stop. in a house where in my eyes, my father didn't think her thin or attractive either, because if she were, why would she be this way. (i realize now that this wasn't exactly the case. but that's how my naive young mind perceived it then, and it affected me greatly)

i learned from every environment i was in that i wasn't thin enough, or pretty enough. that my boobs were too small, my eyes too squinty, my hair too flat. in high school, i wasn't considered that pretty (granted at that point i had really either stopped trying and gone hippie or i went punk-emo wannabe. those are my extremes.)

i am rambling now.

even now, i am terrified.

i look at myself in the mirror after i shower or bathe.

i see every flaw, every pudge. i see my upper thighs curving out on both sides. i see my calves touching when i stand with my feet together and it makes me cringe. i see a little muscle/fat on my waistline and on my lower stomach and i suck in and pull my skin tight. i see my boobs and how almost non existent they are and wish they were at least enough to fill an A cup, hell even a double A would be nice. i see my upper arms, which are almost as wide as my torso, and can't help but feel deflated.

that is me now. i fluctuate between 110-115.

just a month and a half ago, my things and calves didn't touch when i stood with my feet together. and still, i was disappointed. i had nothing but skin and bone on my hips and waistline and the pudge on my lower stomach was not there. my boobs were even smaller, as if that were possible.

and still, i was disgusted by my body. only this time, i was torn. i was too fat and far too thin. all at the same time.

and it made no sense to me. i knew i was too thin. rationally, i was well aware of it.

but anorexia isn't rational. and no amount of rational thought will make it go away, believe me you, i have tried.

i wish to be thinner. i wish for my body to not jiggle in any place when i walk. i wish to have a body fat percentage below 10. i wish to be nothing but muscle and not bigger than a size one, but with happy full B cup boobs. i wish for my eyes to be bigger, my hair blonder and more voluminous. i wish for tinier hands, fingers, and feet.

i wish for perfection. i wish for societies view of perfection, not for raw authentic genuine perfection in my imperfections.

and i wish i didn't feel that way. and i don't know how to change it or fix it.

the only option, that i can think of, is to find the root. and to start from there. to find out exactly when and why i started thinking this way. to understand it fully, and to slowly, piece by piece, let it go.

it's just a matter of finding that beginning. and it has turned out to be harder than it seems. turns out that blocking memories from yourself is difficult to get back since they were obviously blocked for a reason.