in theory I would like a lot of plants but realistically I’m doing a poor job of keeping myself alive so just think of what those poor plants would have to experience
take me to ikea but not in a bullshit 500 days of summer way but just bc im passionate about swedish design and reasonable prices
(via queenofc0neyisland)
that question got me thinking to all the really crazy shit i did when it was really bad. like spending hours looking up all the food on the tesco website, browsing recipes for hours and hours, walking up and down supermarket aisles observing everything for fun. shoving a full curry and rice up my sleeve to hide it, my obsession with sugar free jelly, crying my eyes out when mum tried to make me eat 120cal pasta shapes, screaming and throwing things hysterically in inpatient. waking up at 5am to secretly pace in my ip room for an hour, walking 6miles to and from college most days, walking around until 6pm in the freezing cold, wearing like 7 layers out, literally not able to think or read. some of them really make me laugh out loud at how fucking crazy i was, things like the tesco thing or all the food i’d hide in gross ways or the ridiculous screaming over small amounts of food. and other things make me feel really sad, like all the times in hospital or the complete isolation or the helplessness and being locked in my own thoughts. it’s a mixture of being glad i’m not so far gone anymore and being sad i was actually that fucking bad and didn’t realise at the time. i guess i’m mostly glad those specific things aren’t how i am anymore, like even if i do still do disordered things, it isn’t as awful as it was for a good few years.
I’ve been thinking about this recently too and I really can’t believe I did those things. like once I ate a brownie and walked from crouch end to north finchley in panic. and like the stupid elaborate games I’d play like leaving empty wrappers around to show people I was eating and carefully planning my days so I could tell everyone I’d already eaten etc. and letting bags of food/vomit go mouldy in my wardrobe or screaming and kicking holes in the door because I couldn’t purge a piece of pizza. eating pizza right now, funnily enough.
I can’t remember any of it - like I remember the events but I can’t even imagine how it was to experience it, or what was going through my head at the time. it’s like a completely separate person, which is a good thing I guess but still weird as hell. it’s like a massive gap in my history that left me covered in scars and I can’t remember why they’re there.
eating disorders are so weird and stupid wtf
someone: why do you hoard old movie ticket stubs and event wristbands and old cards and crap??
me: because Time and Memory are foreign concepts to me and I have no other way of reminding myself of the Good Parts in my hell life, my pal
