You may want to cover your eyes…things are about to get scary. Again.
As in “find out what happens when Missy stops being polite and starts getting real" scary. Insane, really.
I’ve had a lot on my mind. And by “a lot” I mean my thighs. There is a lot more of them. They have gained some fat, some muscle and apparently extra nerve endings.
I am hyper-aware of them. They feel like strange growths – interfering when I am walking, sitting, standing or trying to think.
Wanna see these abominable thighs?
Check em out*
*It’s a bathing suit, people. What, you don’t blog in your swimwear?
They look like….thighs. But I swear, they’ve extra-terrestrial powers.
My thighs have increased in tandem with the numbers on the scale. In a stroke of brilliance (?) I decided to weigh myself. I weigh more than I have in many years.
That’s a lot of weight I’ve found.
I’d be lying if I wrote I’m happy and proud of this progress. That I feel so free.
So I guess I just lied.
I calculated my BMI on three different websites and it still says I’m underweight. I’m not lying when I write that BMI is a freaking joke (in my opinion). But I did the math just to see if maybe I had reached acceptable standards. I wanted some sort of “pat on the back.” So much for that.
Unrelated: Check out these awesome tips they give as part of their “underweight treatment.”
Drink 6-8 glasses of distilled water a day.
Eat frequent but small meals.
Eat lots of raw fruits and vegetables (green leafy vegetables are great)
Do not drink coffee, alcohol, soda pop,…
Do not eat processed foods; white sugar, white flower,…
Avoid red meat and animal fats.
Reduce intake of dairy products.
(Yes, you read that correctly. Interesting, no?)
The fact is – numbers don’t plague me. Appearances don’t plague me. That is why I’m divulging all this. My weight in lbs, in BMI, or in the size of my thighs matters very little to me. That’s not what my eating disorder is about.
It’s most certainly NOT about comparing myself to others.
It’s about how I feel from the inside out – the feeling of “me” inside my skin. I relate to my bones, I guess…anything that is not my bone is foreign to me.
It’s nothing short of insane. Am I scaring you?
It would be a lie to write that I’m not trying to lose weight.
But I’m failing. My heart is not in it anymore. I like food.
I am walking with a God who will not let me go and I have faith I will come out the other side with a great big pair of
thighs butterfly wings.