I can't stop thinking about my stomach. With a million other important things to be thinking about, I keep pinching and smushing every five minutes or so. Eating a normal-sized meal makes me globby.
My headspace is not so good right now. It's been going on for a while - I managed to transfer it to TFA stuff - but I can't stop berating myself. It's not that I want to restrict - it's that I know I can't restrict. All that willpower? All that stuff that made me so good and wonderful? Gone. Nada. Bake a pan of brownies and I'll eat one. Having a cider? Thanks, I'll have one too. And I know, I know, I know I shouldn't, but I compare myself to other people all the time. When other people eat normally, they don't puff out. Me, I even come close to a normal diet and I gain weight uncontrollably.
Arrgghgh. The only word I can think of to describe this is toxic, as melodramatic as that sounds. I can't fucking sit in a desk chair without feeling, to use a homegrown colloquialism, "like ten pounds of shit in a five-pound bag." Charming, I know, but it fits.
I finally had my head and my body synched up, and now my head is backsliding while my body, oblivious, continues gaining. I can't wait for the fucking day someone says "You? You were anorexic?" with that goddamn tone that very few people know and no one loves.