Recovery is hard. This day sucks. Gaining weight from recovering sucks. All I want to do is fit into my jeans. I feel like everyone is watching me, waiting for me to see if I am still wearing workout pants. I ate toast and cereal. AND cereal. And I feel like I have failed. Like I failed. I know that I didn’t fail. I know. My brain knows i didn’t fail, but I still can’t fit into my jeans.
I can’t fit into my jeans and I feel lumpy. I feel large and mushy and lumpy. I feel like my stomach takes up too much space. and my thighs jiggle like something from a funhouse. And my face feels like an inflated balloon.
I know these things aren’t true. I know that these things, even if they were true, do not define me. But I can’t help but feeling this way. I can’t help feeling that I wish I could keep my disorder size but have an ordered mind.
They're playing love songs on the radio tonight.
- to keep you quiet, while i'm inside