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Fucking perception. How is yours?

Posted Oct 01 2012 8:10am

I was going to write this on my other blog, because I never really come here any more. This is, however, an entirely body-image related post that would be wrong anywhere else.

I feel like I’m crossing a border in stating this so suddenly. I feel like these profanities belong to a more childlike, immature blog. But I also feel them entirely necessary.

I am fucking over the way my mind treats me.

I have spent almost 3 years, or 1,095 days or 26,280 hours, or 94,608,000 seconds squashed in this manic hell-hole of mental warpage and internal suffocation. I have slaved away timelessly for this bitch of a voice that snaps and snarls about my fat, my food, my thighs and my face, my failure and my misanthrope, my personality and my arms, my legs, my wrists, my hands, my neck, my elbows and my knees, my weight and my BMI, my diet and my health, my ethics and my altruism, my wealth, my height and my skin colour, my skin and my IQ. This voice leaves no corner unperturbed, this voice raked through every miserable aspect of my life and pulped it into a black void of dereliction.

I overcame the unsustainable period of intense starvation, I gained 12.7 kg since that state of pure skeleton. I spent hours trying to carve my useless body into a temple of muscle and lean curves, into something that would make recovery ‘worth it.’ I dedicated myself to being more intelligent, stronger, healthier, paler skin, more altruistic ethics. It was the same problem couched in different terms. The problem with dedicating yourself to something you ‘aspire’ to be is the frequent likelihood your standards will be perpetually raised with your own success. You chase the bait of a fishing line tied to your own body, each step forward ensuring the line is carried out further.

I could rant with many people for many hours on the bastard, manic and masochistic monster the Eating Disordered brain is. My place now is to focus on a particular aspect that drives these eating disorders. Not perfection this time, but the quandary of distorted perception.

I am lost in the abyss of distorted perception.

My weight and BMI depicts such that I am still ‘underweight’ and accordingly, ‘malnourished.’ My bone density depicts someone with osteopenia and rather frail areas of bone structure. This information is not for the ghastly ‘triggering’ some people will experience by any sort of figure I mention, but a pure cry for understanding.

I am medically underweight, a term that is incompatible with ‘fat’, ‘flubber’, ‘obese’, ‘swollen’. I should look half a kilogram within Audrey-fucking-Hepburn’s figure. I should.

But let me illustrate an honest picture of what I perceive.

I have no muscle whatsoever. I have a gym membership I use thrice weekly, every week, never an excuse. I do strength yoga twice a week, every week, never an excuse. Yet I remain entirely coated in a thick skin of pure, wobbly, puffy, fat.

This fat swells through every corner. My lower arms hang with this swollen flesh, my upper arms are so acutely large they are out of proportion to my entire body. My thighs are intensely large, my knees are swollen, my ankles are thick, my stomach is bloated and flubbery.

What I struggle with is when other people suffering from this disorder paint me a similar picture, I scoff internally.

‘They look broken and fragile. Of course they can see how thin they are. That’s ridiculous.’

I believe so deeply that I am the exception to this rule.

My perception is so soaringly off the scale in comparison to what my medical data depicts, that I can only plea desperately for others to come forward. Like a forlorn Missing sign begging others to help them, I feel so entirely lost that I can only wonder wether I am actually this state of ‘fat.’ Wether it is actually possible for my brain to perceive my body so much larger than it ‘should’ be, to physically feel the fat bursting around my body.

I know full well this is no improving-body-image-in-the-media preaching session. But nonetheless I can only try to ask for help. Through this blog I have seen to it that I helped other people, and I watched them thank me. Naturally I fear nobody will come forward; a mere 2 people may make small comments. I expect this just as I expect to wake tomorrow to that fat, putrid body.

But hope is a sweet poison, and hope is all I can do. So please, please do tell me.

Fucking perception.

How is yours?


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