Tonight I got pizza for dinner. My blood sugar really tanked, which is what happened last weekend too; I think multiple cigarettes drive me right into hypoglycaemia. I got the smallest size of pizza and it was plain cheese, but I still regretted it.
So I tried to puke it out by drinking a glass of hot salty water. Although all I lost was liquid, probably the gross water I had just swallowed. My heart rate went through the roof and I wound up having a POTS moment. I had to lie down for a while, my stomach is now super distended and I feel awful. But the pizza is still in me and I still hate myself about it.
I just can’t believe I went so wrong with my body in life. There was a time when I had collarbones, and shoulders that weren’t boxy. I still loved nachos and pizza, but they didn’t cling to me. Even when I was starting to get ill, when I went into hospital with Glandular Fever and I began to lose my mobility, I still had a jawline and a waist that didn’t poke out further than my boobs.
Now I only know where my collarbones are when one of them dislocates. My boobs are floppy and awful because I found it too painful to put bras on for a couple of years, until I found front-fastening ones. But despite how far they poke out, my stomach goes further. My lower arms don’t feel too fatty, but they are so much thicker than my sister’s. I can connect even my abnormally short fingers to my thumb around my sister’s arms. My sister has such a perfect body. When I look at her I feel so sickened by what I am in comparison.
Deliberate puking has never really been a thing for me. I’m too much of an emetophobe to get it to work. The fear of having to vomit and see vomit in the toilet for even a moment, is slightly worse than that of being so damn fat.
I’ve abused laxatives, I’ve starved myself, I’ve taken pills, but puking doesn’t work for me. And I hate that it doesn’t.
I know, weight loss doesn’t automatically make people happy. But when the source of unhappiness if your own chubby face, then weight loss will help a lot with that.
Of course there are other things I don’t like about myself. In fact, I can’t actually think of something I do like. But it would be easier to cope with self-hate if I wasn’t so visibly hideous. I don’t want to look like this and it makes me miserable.