"Dammit!"
I took off my waist high shorts and violently tossed them onto my bed. I dug through my drawers and pulled out four safety pins and began to tailor my shorts smaller. They were my favorite shorts and now they fit me too big.
My body dismorphia was bad, but I knew I had to get smaller and smaller clothes. So the next day I went to a discount store and bought one-size-fits-all leggings and shirts, skirts, dresses- a whole new wardrobe.
Three months later those didn't even fit anymore. Nothing else fit me, with the exception of children's clothes. I was 17 years old and using kids clothes. It was extremely frustrating having to look like a child everywhere I went.
I either couldn't fit into clothes because they were too big, or spent my days starving to fit into specific jeans. It was not a win-win situation anymore. I lost. It was over.
Months later, even after my forced recovery, I walked through the stores and passed the children's isle. 50 pounds heavier and I would sob in the middle of the store because looking at those clothes triggered me. I wanted to fit into them again, despite my hatred for them. I wanted to feel small again, not the fat beast they fed me to be.
It's a love-hate relationship.
YOU ARE READING
Mind of The Disordered- A Memoir (Completed)
Non-FictionWhen you're stuck inside a layer of skin you never asked for, what does the soul do? It cries out in poems and pictures, and words that have so much meaning to anyone if they look hard enough. It winces in pain every time the pen hits the paper and...
