CONTROL CONTROL CONTROL CONTROL CONTROL CONTROL

THE BLINDING TERROR OF UNNECESSARY FLESH

Chantelle . adult . my top secret mentally disordered blog . getting better while getting worse

my heart for deliverance

went on an overnight trip out of town and managed to eat as little as possible but as soon as I came home I binged as much as possible and couldn’t even purge and punished myself with laxatives

for that brief 24 hours I felt a bit better even though I was obsessing over how much weight I’ve gained the whole time, at the concert, being a tourist in a different city, trying to enjoy myself on a mini vacation but at least I wasn’t bingeing and purging and sitting at home alone, letting my disorder isolate me further

tomorrow I’m most likely going to go to an ABA (anorexics and bulimics anonymous) meeting for the first time just to try it out, apparently the group is only about 5 people and I want to know if anyone has a doctor they know that I could see instead of my psychiatrist who would take me seriously

he said I’m bulimic, or wanted to put me on prozac to treat bulimia, but he didn’t ask me a single question so I don’t really trust his…. anything

I hate that I’m reblogging this because I want to look this way thought I know it’s so so so wrong.

(via 85lbsagain)

the worst possible (okay it feels like it right now)

I just had the biggest binge I’d been avoiding having since I thought my roommate was going to the movies with her friends and I was just about to purge when they all came back here.

We have a small apartment/suite and her room is beside the bathroom. I thought I had the house to myself all night. Now I have to go purge in my room for the next two hours, trying to be quiet, all I want to do is cry and be alone, my stomach hurts so fucking much.

I am so so so sick of this.

Binges go away!!!

Anorexia isn’t a joke. Anorexia isn’t posting pictures of girls with “thigh gaps”. Anorexia isn’t making countless text posts about how you wish you hadn’t eaten. Anorexia isn’t making hundreds of suicidal threats per month on twitter. Anorexia isn’t getting attention. Anorexia isn’t not eating. It’s funny, all the people who claim to have anorexia and saying they haven’t eaten, when truly, they’re completely full; feeding off all the attention they attract with their stunts and claims. Anorexia is an illness. Anorexia isn’t a competition of whose been in the hospital the most times. It isn’t a ticket to sympathy. It isn’t a tag on tumblr. True anorexia is a toxic, life-devouring illness. You’re starving in body but also in soul. Anorexia feeds on your heart, dreams and passion until you’re a shadow. Anorexia isn’t weighing 75 lbs. you could weigh 500 lbs and be a horrifyingly self-abusive anorexic; even more so than someone who weighs 100 lbs. It isn’t a physical condition, it’s a mental one. It’s one people don’t show; on the Internet, on their face, or in their words. It’s a haunting, consuming ILLNESS. Not a phase, fad or fashion.

by (via beyond-bones)

(Source: a-dash-of-ravishing, via recoveryyougogirl)

I almost never check this anymore BUT I’ve been a lot more open about my eating disorder bullshit on my regular blog so go follow me there:

http://debbiedownerdanceparty.tumblr.com

It’s been a rough fucking month. I got down to a bmi of 17.2 then back up to 17.9 today and I broke down crying. Went from restricting and only purging as a backup to full blown binges and purging all day almost every day. I hate to sound cliche but I do feel so out of control, been getting the urge to cut for the first time in a while, and to have meaningless sex with boys even though I think my body is grotesque.

Every day I have to remind myself that at least I’m not at my highest weight anymore and the only thing keeping me sane is the sight of my chest bones but it’s not really much of a consolation when I can still grab fistfuls of my thighs and hips and ass and I usually see double digits on the scale but it got up to triples today.

I’m just done with everything forever.

(via smallestgoal)

or your cleanse

or detox

(via birageousbitch-deactivated20130)

(via ednosbitch)

By November, you wish you were dead. You want nothing more. Every day, every fucking day, you run up the steps of the house, breathing hard, swing open the cupboards, thinking: You pitiful little bitch. Fucking cow. Greedy pig. All day, your stomach pinches and spits up its bile. You sway when you walk. You begin to get cold again.

by Marya Hornbacher (via papernymph)

(Source: coldonex, via bullymia)

(Source: lustmeadow, via t-o-t-a-l-b-a-b-e)