I’m sick of hating my own body.

I’m sick of looking in the mirror and feeling disgusted with the pooch that sits on my lower stomach, my thighs, my cheeks, my back…

I’m sick of seeing chocolate poptart crumbs on my nightstand leftover from a moment of weakness and wanting to not eat for a week to punish myself.

I’m sick of the insecurity; of not being able to ever, ever orgasm when I’m with a guy because I can’t get over the feeling of not being attractive to him. 

I’m sick of this mental mind fuck that this disorder has cursed me with. 

I don’t look at food the way other people look at food. Nothing is ever consumed without careful deliberation- will I regret this? do you really want to be putting this into your body? how many calories are in that? 

I’m sick of the moment I choose to reveal my secret to someone when they decide that I’m their next new charity case. 

I’m sick of people trying to fix me.

I’m sick of the awkward moment when people start talking about body weight and food issues and I have to leave the room because it is so immensely triggering. 

I’m sick of comparing myself to so many other girls- wanting their thighs, their abs, their shoulders, their visible ribs… 

I want someone to understand. I want someone to accept me.

I’m sick of being judged.