My Pride and Joy Story Thots

Bitch, I got chu. (this is angst. Fu.)

Brought to you by eating disorders.

Bloated pig. Sow. Hog. Boar. Beached whale. Lard-ass. Fat-ass. Thunder thighs. Skin chicken.  That's what you thought of yourself as.

You're not one of those fucking debby downers who fucking complain all the shitting time. No, you are one of those people who fucking work on yourself. Like a healthy person.

You eat healthy, even though it doesn't seem to work.

You exercise every-fucking-single day, even though it just adds onto the pounds.

You keep a routine lifestyle, better than anyone else you know.

You think about yourself in a semi-positive way, even though you're fat.

But you work on that.

You work on everything about yourself, whatever it may be.

But it doesn't seem to work.

The physical part, anyway.

You eat the normal amount that a person on a diet is supposed to eat.

You eat that and do all the fucking things in your crap routine of working out and keeping yourself in shape.

But it doesn't work. For the 200th time. It doesn't work.

You got into a conversation one day with one of your skinnier friends.

She introduced you into something new; Something that works.

Something that'll take some time to get used to.

But it works.

You try the thing out.

You eat once a day now.

Then you throw it all up.

Then after, you do your fucking business for the day.

You got results.

For once, you got results.

You do the thing again, and it works.

You feel good.

You do the thing for a week, and you get results.

It works even more.
You feel even better than before.

All you eat now are smoothies, but even those are small sized and limited.

You keep on doing this thing for weeks. Then months. Then years.

You don't feel as good now, but you look great.

You are 'normal' now.
You are 'good' now.
You are 'beautiful' now.

One day, you decide to cheat. You ate food. Like an actual fucking meal for once.

That felt great.

So you ate more and more and more.

You felt nice. Eating.

Eating is nice.

Then you felt it.

You ran to the toilet and threw up.

You vomited.

You vomited because of eating food.

Your body can't handle food anymore like it used to.
It refuses to accept the nutrients from solid food anymore.

You cry on the bathroom floor, like a loser.

You cry because you've become this weird-ass person who can't even go into a restaurant without fucking throwing up.

You cry because you made this decision of life changing effects years past.

You cry because of you.

(For scout_miles the person who requested it.)