There and Back Again: A Thigh Gap’s Tale

Initially I wanted to make this post about my descent into the Eating Disordered realm and how I got “better.” Then I remembered that I’m not even all that better, just less symptomatic, and no one really wants me to make this whole spiel because it’d be boring for the readers. The thought of making a narration based on if thigh gaps could speak was briefly planned and shot down because I’m not a good enough writer to pull that one off. Also it’d be boring for the readers. In conclusion, this post will just be what I do best: Complaining and trying really hard to make my brain thoughts make sense to everyone else (while trying to get my point across).

Ahem.

Oddly enough, my foray into the thigh gap obsession started only recently, even though I have been dealing with food and body stuff from a very early age (10. Now 22). It’s not that I really crave one myself, it’s just I never knew it meant anything to people outside young people on the internet looking at pictures of skinny girls bent over to look more skinny. An off-handed, essentially harmless remark from a coworker taught me that it’s actually rather desired in a female sex partner. Seeing one kind of gets their motor going, apparently. If you know what I mean. The sad-brain got to moving and figured out I don’t have one = I’m not desirable in any way. I’m also stupid, worthless, and a total failure. That’s brain math.

Now, I know it’s unreasonable, this I’ve come to terms with. That I will never have a real healthy outlook on my image and I will always compare myself to every other passing female dubbing myself larger is a fact of life for me. The only plus side is that I know it’s the disorder talking. I can at least realize when my brain is just picking on me for fun, or because I’m at an exceptionally weak post-ice cream point. But this time, hearing this guy say these great things about this random girl with a thigh gap got my brain moving, and my smart-brain didn’t catch it. I found myself subconsciously obsessing over thigh gaps and other body issues more than usual the rest of the day. That of course led to me dropping a few more pounds than what is probably healthy in a week.

I caught myself, I’m back to doing things right again but it’s scary to think that such harmless comments that I don’t even really care about right away can have such an effect on me. But then, isn’t that how it started anyway? My friend in fifth grade didn’t call me fat, she called her fat. I just took that to mean I should diet, too, and now look where we are. Completely obsessed with food, weight loss, and body images and I can’t even tell if I’m still sick or if I just don’t have anything else to do.

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