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Indian, SW:106 pounds, 48 kg, but still flabby and fat.
G3)45---99 [ ]
G4)44--97 [ ]
g5)43--95 [ ]
hipbones, collar bones, ribs, flat tummy, that gap between my thighs
Cora Keegan by Christopher Shintani
I was imagining what I would tell my sorta-boyfriend-but-I-don’t-call-him-that about my “eating disorder” was so fucking triggering.
All I could think about was that summer two years ago when I restricted. I restricted. Oh that word is so beautiful. It wasn’t starving or hurting myself. It was cleansing myself and improving. Striving. Restricting. That South Africa trip was divine, if just for that. I felt so goddamn skinny and strong. And even better when I lost weight. I remember waking up because my hip ones dug into the sheets. I remember reading Wintergirls for inspiration, motivation and for the words that laced through my fingers as I picked at my food.
Even now, “food” has a suddenly changed meaning for me. And I’m picturing myself in my new shorts, slim golden thighs apart, no more rubbing together, no more sticky heat. So thin. So perfect.
I need to fucking start that again. Not crazily, not overboard. But I should restrict.