I went to go change because I didn’t want to look like a little girl on her first day of school. it amazed me how many times I changed throughout the day – I guess it was just because i felt self conscious. 

I pulled the skirt up, only to find out it didn’t fit. Jesus, that made me want to die. brought me back to the days where things like a small skirt would fit me. The days where I was too skinny to function. I tried so hard to get it on. What would happen if I did get it on? How would i get it off? Would that be a bigger humiliation than if I couldn’t have gotten it on? Many questions rattled through my head. The only answer I could muddle out was “fuck”. Holy fuck. This wasn’t helping my ED (Eating Disorder) brain. “Oh you’re too big”, “This would fit if you hadn’t gained so much weight.” Jesus Christ, my mind was fucked up. 

So there I was – Squishing my ass into this obviously little girl skirt. I didn’t want to look pathetic so i kept trying.

Ok, so it didn’t fit – surprise surprise. So I put my bleached stained shorts back on, trying to hide my humiliation. The only reputable things to my outfit was a dirty Metallica shirt and my beat up Filas.

The only thing I could think about was how badly my hips hurt trying to hurdle that goddamn skirt on. That’s what I get for cutting off the circulation to my legs. 

Next up on our list – mini golfing with my family. I had a butterfly mood ring and a handmade bead bracelet that said ‘drugs’. I felt pretty proud of myself that i didn’t cry from the whole skirt fiasco. All I needed was my trusty Juul to get me through it. 

I remember back at the clinic they told me that clothes that didn’t fit you were your “sick clothes”. I never liked that phrase. I always thought of it as “you can’t fucking fit into this you fucking piece of shit”. But that never went over well with the people that worked at the clinic. Oh well. 

Thinking about my days at the eating disorder clinic was always bittersweet. Yes, I was “sick” back then, but at least I was skinny. (I’m kidding.) Eating has gotten better, and at least i’m not fucking throwing up after every meal. But it still made me sad. I miss the days when I could use my number one coping skill. Now my coping skills consist of vaping, drugs and sleeping to avoid reality. 

As much as I hated this camping trip in particular, it was nice to get out of the house. I had been on house arrest via my mom the whole summer. Spending endless days in my room, only coming out for meals or for a shit. The only times when things got real exciting was when I gained weight. I would get allowed a privilege – getting out the house for 3 hours. Basically if i gained weight I would be given a piece of candy, and if I didn’t, I was punished. Great reward system right? Looking back i’ll probably laugh at my misery, but for now I will continue to cry in the shower. 

I was fucking dominating at this mini golf game. Ah yes, just the validation I needed after struggling to put that god forsaken skirt on. Validation is something I have never really had, and even when I did it was never enough. People would always comment on my hair or clothing, but it never felt real. People are just nice because it makes them feel better about themselves. Everyone is apathetic and they don’t even know it. 

I never really liked vacations, I’m definitely more of a homebody. Maybe it’s because I’m depressed.

It’s definitely because i’m depressed. 

This is the first post on my new blog. I’m just getting this new blog going, so stay tuned for more. Subscribe below to get notified when I post new updates.