Boy. It’s been a while. 

It’s been a while. But I’ve been feeling like everything it’s pretty pointless with this whole recovery thing. 

It’s been almost 3 years since it started. And most of the days it doesn’t feels any better and I can’t even see a real improvement on my moods or behaviors and thoughts. 

I don’t know if it’s because I’m really self-conscious and self critical or if it’s because #bpd but whatever.  Bulimia again. Ah. Yes. 

I was about 15 when I started purging on a daily basis. And I never felt bad about it. I didn’t over thought it too much. I just did it. And then realized the numb feeling after it. And I liked it. I liked the fake sense of control and peace. 

I wasn’t even a little bit conscious about the consequences and about the fact that I was setting up a very dangerous bomb time. And to be honest I never thought that at my 22 years I would be still on the same hole. 

I can’t remember what was I exactly thinking or what I was expecting from purging. I just know that it happened. And then I couldn’t stop. And I didn’t cared at all. 

7 years later and it’s all the same. (Mostly)

Still no self control. Still with distorted thoughts and ideas about food and my body and my image. Still getting “sick” after certain meals. Still locking  myself on the bathroom and letting the cold  water run for 15 minutes so no one can listen while I purge. Still not brushing my teeth so acid doesn’t ruins them. (More). Still with the same fear foods. And the same safe foods. And the endless grossery shopping lists. Still obsessed about calories. Still using a shit ton of perfume to keep the smell “away. Still chewing gum 24/7 in a desperate attempt to make the puke breath disappear. Still with graspy voice. Still knowing my memory the x numbers of x food. Still taking measures in a obssesive way. Still hiding it. Still feeling ashamed. 

Always with red knuckles and watered eyes. The same puffy face. The same fat body. The same loose and dry skin. 

Looking back in retrospective l lost everything but weight. (Like yeah. I went from 80 kilos to 60. And then up to 70. And then again to 80. And the back at 70. Which is my current) and somedays I feel like after getting to 60 I should have gone down to 40 to make it worth it. To feel like I finally did something not everyone can. You know? Like bragging about loosing 40 kilos in one year mister feel awesome. But I couldn’t. So I feel like I failed. (Which is stupid) 

Is stupid because I lost friends. And healthy relationships with everyone around me. I pushed a lot of people away. And I didn’t even cared at that moment cause I was too busy purging and binging and building a useless wall inside my mind. I lost so much time (have you ever thought about how much time you spend binging and purging? Well. I lost about +5 hours a day). I lost a lot of moments. And party’s. And dates. And concerts. I lost all my high school.  And then my only year of college. And then everything. 

I was willing to give everything to drop some fucking kilos. And it wasn’t worth it. It wasn’t worth it. Cause in the end it’s not something you can’t brag about. 

You know? 

Like. If someone at a family dinner says “I’m so proud I finished my major with honorific mention” I can’t say. “YO that’s great. But I lost 40 kilos on a year. So suck me this one” 

You know? 

Losing weight shouldn’t be my only goal in life. And I need to stop measuring my life success with a number. 

(But I can’t) 


Size miserable 

It’s raining and I’ve been listening non stop to this amazing song of Angus and Julia Stone “all of me” that constantly reminds me so many things that make me cry.

I’ve had a serious hard week. Month. Benjamin has been sick twice. Which means no sleeping. No eating. Him on my arms like a baby koala all the time.

I’m exhausted. And when I’m exhausted I don’t take care of myself in any way. And that’s not good. Because that’s when the intrusive bad thoughts come back at 1000 KMS per hour.

This month I had to throw half of my food because it was already rotten because I didn’t even bothered in cooking or eating. And my mind has been fighting between seriously relapsing or continue with recovery. Somedays I wake up and it takes me 1-2 hours to make some breakfast. (That I hate. And I don’t even enjoy. And then I feel guilty. And then it ends in the toilet)

Whatsoever. I actually hold up to my shit pretty good. And on Friday I re-readed my recovery journal. Which is basically weird notes I made while I was at the ED group. And I made (once again) the conclusion that eating disorders have only one size.


There was this girl called Fernanda at my group that went from weighting 35 kilos to weight 80. From anorexia to binge eating to bulimia. All in less than 2 years. And she was always talking about the fact that the satisfaction of her goal weight literally lasted 1 day. 1 bloody day. And that was all. 35 kilos seemed like 90. And she wasn’t satisfied. Why?

Cause you’ll never be. You are never going to be satisfied with the number you see on the scale. Because the reality of an eating disorder is not weight.

Let me try to explain this.

The weight is the “symptom” of something bigger.

When you get the flu the first thing you probably get is a little bit of fever. But that’s not the disease. That’s a symptom.

Well the weight is not the illnes. Is a vile symptom.

The illness itself it’s undercovered.

You use the eating disorder to avoid everything. To avoid the fact that you don’t like your life, or your family, or the things around you, or that you don’t like yourself, your social position or other things. But it also can be because you couldn’t deal with difficult things that happened. Maybe you were bullied a lot, or you happen to be a victim of domestic violence, or rape, or child abuse.

It’s different for everyone. But the effect of an eating disorder are the same. Wherever you have anorexia and weight 35 kilos or have binge disorder and weight 80 kilos.

It numbs everything.

Because you focus on food and only food and numbers and calories and measures and sizes. So your brain goes 24/7 on that. And ignores everything else. And nothing else happens. Nothing else matters.

So you go everyday on this state (unconscious obviously) and things start to lose meaning and you don’t care about anything anymore you know?

Something bad happens? Restrict.

Something good happens? Restrict more.

You got into a fight with your family? Fast for 3 days.

You got a new job? Nope. Can’t deal. Don’t eat today.

You numb everything because honestly we don’t like feelings because no one ever teached us to deal with them (and yes. This is actually an issue that comes from our parents) but well. We never learnt. (So, no. It’s not 100% their fault)

Whatever. Feeling are bad. Feelings hurts. Being happy hurts. Being in love hurts. Being lonely hurts and everything hurts. So we better focus on this pretty little shit that takes everything away.

Oh yeah. Lets rely (even more) on our eating disorder.

So obviously when you get to the goal weight. Man. You still have to deal with all the things you’ve been trying to numb. So you push yourself a little more. And search desperately for more numbness. Because well, it’s fucking scary to face things.

So yeah. You’ll probably be satisfied for a day or for a week. But sooner or later. You’ll need more numbness. And you’ll keep relying on the eating disorder and not dealing with anything and it’s a never ending story. Because obviously on the surface the goal weight is not enough.

But deep deep inside. It’s not the weight what’s not enough. Deep inside there are a lot of things that are not enough. And deep deep inside everything in wrong. And you are only feeding that shitty monster inside you that instead of dealing with things decided that numbness was better.

Size miserable. Because you don’t have to reach your goal weight to fall into the hole of desperation property of the monster that demand numbness.