Relapse

I've been avoiding you.

It's not you. It's me.

If I write it out, then I have to face it. I have to feel this shame and hate and guilt. I have to come to terms with my weight gain. And I'm going to be a hot mess after this post is over.

I'm already snotting all over myself from thinking about what to write.

Ed is coming back.

About a week ago, I tried on my leggings (which are my always comfy go-to safe pants) and they were tight. So I tried on another pair trying to keep my spirits up. And as I stripped off each failed pair my positivity went with it. This was proof—I've gained more weight.

Since that Tuesday morning I have had nonstop thoughts about exercise, how much I hate my body, how uncomfortable I am at this weight and that I should start restricting.

I mean I go upstairs or on walks and have to hold my hand across my stomach because it jiggles.

My leggings dig into my sides when I sit down.

My boobs don't even fit in my bras anymore. Which is what I thought I wanted but now there's no hiding them.

Yesterday I went out and it took me a while to get dressed. Nothing fit right because I was exploding out of the tops and bottoms. I finally put on my comfy pair of (get this) pink leopard pants (SUPER stretchy) and a tank that covered these bad girls. I walked to get a cab and got stared at and hit on by three different guys. Which you would think is flattering but they don't know that this is all I have to wear. I'm trying to act confident and not cry in front of the drunk black gentleman (ahem guy) asking where I'm headed if he can holler, I'm losing it inside. He doesn't know that behind my heavily mascaraed eyes, push up bra (the only one left that fits) and my skin tight pants that the last thing I want is to be seen.

It's so shameful that you, them, everyone can see me, my fat, my failure. It's there and it's big and it's in plain sight.

I am so ashamed. So disgusted with my body. I want out.

These thoughts are exhausting.

Ed's starting to choose what I wear, what I eat, how I spend my time (aka choosing the gym over friends). I'm losing my life again. But I don't know how to stop it because he's so strong and so convincing. And I am so unhappy.

I believe I'm right. I believe I've gained too much weight and this needs to stop.

My recovery team was saying it's possible that my mind is creating this sensitivity to clothing and obsession. But I do not believe that my mind is that warped, that fucked up. It has to be true that I'm fat. And that it's not stopping. It's like if you touch an oven that's on and your brain tells you it's hot then you know it's hot. The way my clothes fit, the jiggling, the uncomfortability…that's my brain telling me how much I've gained. It's not ok.

Especially not now. Come on man not during the start of spring / summer. Not when I have to wear less. Be more social. Have girls that are thin running around in outfits I wish I could wear. This is usually my favorite time, I mean hello have you seen Seattle in the summer? But I can't do summer because I don't have anything to wear.

I tried on my shorts—every last pair. And NONE of them fit. What used to fall off of me a year ago is now SKIN tight. And when I went to shop for more in sizes like 30 and 13 they didn't fit. They were too tight. I don't fit in anywhere. I'm just too big. I don't get it. I don't understand how other girls are thin and don't have this. Why am I so large why can't I eat and not get fat?

I tried so hard to do this right but I can't. I can't be this big. It's a huge red flag. I MUST lose weight. Or else I'll continue to be this obsessed and miserable.

But I'm so confused because I was miserable when I was thin.  But now that I'm fat I'm more uncomfortable, filled with more hate. Recovery is supposed to make me feel better. But now I don't believe that I need to eat as much as they are telling me. I believe my disordered ways worked…at least in the weight category.

I'm also confused because I had this photo shoot for fun and people are leaving incredibly nice comments on them. I think they are making them up. How could THAT be pretty? THAT body be admired? It's disgusting.

I can't even walk normally because I hate how my thighs touch. I don't like showering because then it's just me and my body.

I don't know if this will even make sense to anyone who doesn't have one but I'm hurting. I'm so confused. I'm so incredibly uncomfortable. And I'm full of hate. The only thing keeping me going is that every day I eat less and workout more is a day closer to being comfortable.