My Story

I first realized that I was bulimic when I was 12 years old. 
I had been purging for several years before then, but I didn’t know that it had a name or that I wasn’t the only person in the whole wide world who was feeling what I was. Knowing that I wasn’t alone validated me, it made my purging seem more acceptable. More normal. Everything escalated from there.
For the next five years it ruled my life. As the months went by I would eat less and puke more. Laxatives, excessive exercise, purging, it was all a part of my day to day lifestyle.

When I was 16 years old I remember sitting in a friend’s living room while I waited for her to bring in the tea that had just finished steeping. After my first sip, I realized that she had sweetened it. 
Sugar. It was what I spent my entire existence trying to avoid. 
I ran to her bathroom, my finger was down my throat before I even had the door closed behind me.
I lay on the linoleum floor crying while she pounded on the door and I thought about how I had gotten to this point. What had happened to me? Poking my already-destroyed gag reflex because I had swallowed a pinch of sugar?
I was 93 pounds, the lowest of my life. 

Since then I’ve tried my best to not return to Mia. I’ve gained a shit ton of weight, and last week I realized that I am at the heaviest I have been in my entire life.
Although I haven’t purged in close to a year, my mindset about my weight is still the same as it was when I was 12 years old.
I see fat in the mirror and it makes me curl up and cry.

My boyfriend, whom I live with, says that he loves me the way I am. 
I want so badly to believe him. He is my world, and it kills me that I can’t stand for him to see me naked.
I’m going to be pretty, for him and for me.

My Motivation

I was cheated on.
The girl he cheated with isn’t nice, charismatic, funny, endearing, or pretty. But she is skinny.

Oh God is she skinny.

The kind of skinny that you see in a million pictures across a thousand thinspo blogs. The kind of skinny that I myself post a dozen times a day.

And while we’re trying to move past it and continue our relationship, I could no longer pretend that I had found some chubby chaser who was content with my pudginess.

Since then, every time he touches me, I feel inadequate. Like he’s picturing her in his mind and I just don’t measure up. This is the boy that convinced me for the first time in my life that I was beautiful, that I was good enough. I was thriving on that idea. And suddenly it just doesn’t seem plausible anymore.

I know that a lot of it is in my own head, but I can’t make it go away.
I imagine their hip bones grinding together, clashing so beautifully. Then I feel his hip push into my doughy body and it just makes me want to die.

This is, without a doubt, my biggest motivation. When I’m exhausted and don’t want to run the last mile, I think of his hands wrapping easily around her waist and I push through the last of the workout. When I’m starving and feel like I need that pasta, I imagine her slender fingers on his skin and suddenly I’m not so hungry anymore.

In addition to this, I have some fucking amazing tattoos. On my upper thighs and on the front of my rib cage below the ta-tas. I want to be able to show them off. I want to wear short shorts and a bikini so the world can see these beautiful works of art that I’ve spent hundreds and hundreds of dollars on. 
Tattoos are a hobby of mine and I have so many ideas for my next additions. But I will not complete them until I have a body that I can be proud of. I will not have a masterpiece painted on a lumpy, flabby canvas.

This blog was created to help keep me accountable, and to offer advice and support to anyone who needs it. 
We can get to where we want to be, I promise. 

Progress/Personal Photos