“But, The Scale Says I’m Fine”: Gaining Weight With Anorexia

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“But, I’m like, fine now.”

The other day I’m on the phone with my therapist.

“How’s your eating?” She asked – after we covered the mundane and I had no other drama to manipulatively fill the time.

“Better,” I said. “I’m diggin’ outta anorexia part 2. I weigh XXX. Put on some pounds in Mexico on that bachelorette.”

I hear her *harumph* on the phone. (And if you don’t know that sound – familiarize yourself with it immediately.)

“That’s not enough.”

I feel that growing flicker of annoyance in the pit of my stomach. “It’s fine.”


“And you were …. how much did you weigh when you were in treatment?”

I tell her. “I don’t want to still be that though. I wasn’t even active then. They wouldn’t let me do shit so it wasn’t fair to say that’s accurate – I knew I’d lose a little. That was 3 years ago.”

“Regardless,” she says. “You’re still xxx off.”

“Yep,” I agree – ornery as eating disorders can be. “Yep, maybe. You might just be damn right.”


Instead, I wait.

A chess play. Always a chess play with eating disorders.

“So, what are you gonna do about your meals this week, now that you’re not on vacation?” She asks – which irks me.

WAIT, thought I was CONTROLLING this dialogue.

“Dunno,” I say, nonchalantly. “Do what I’m doing.”

“Skip meals?”

“I’m not. I’m gaining weight. I’m figuring it out.”

“But you’re not making it a priority.”

“That’s fair,” I said. “I don’t care if I gain weight or not. I’d be fine if I stayed this forever.”

“But you know you can’t sustain that?”


“Maybe,” she says. “Maybe isn’t good enough.”

“Maybe is all that I got sometimes.”


Eating Disorders.

What master manipulators we are.

What brilliant little ways we have of “normalizing” abnormal behavior.

Like John Oliver said of Trump: we can’t normalize what’s not normal.

Yet, we continue to try all the time.

It’s sunny tonight, the longest day of the year, and I’m in Breckenridge, Colorado – dressed up from a conference, sipping a glass of white wine in a cream colored dress.

Earlier in the car with a #ShamelessSelfie

I’m sitting at a shaky iron table right now at a pub n’ taproom, across from a group of girls. No older than 16.

I see one. I see her.

She doesn’t eat. 4 moms and 4 daughters around a table.

She won’t eat. Everyone has a plate. She doesn’t.

She’s sick and looks it. She’s sick and loves it.

Clutches the back of her arm every few minutes.

Needs that little validation.

The validation of grabbing skin – touching it in her fingertips.

How many of us can relate?

I wonder if she’ll get help as I look at her. Sitting here. Typing from my computer.

She has caught my eye a couple times.

I wonder if she’ll be okay.

If she’ll grow out of it. If she’ll find more meaning.

I see her friend trying to give her a piece of chicken and she puts her hands up. “No,” she shakes her head vehemently. “Gross.”

The girl gives her that look. That trapped look of a friend.

You’re transparent, I want to say. I know your game.

She squeezes out a lemon into a bowl.

She distracts herself.

And yet – I live this girl’s game.

Who am I to judge?

How easy it is to justify the shit we do.

How easy it is to displace ourselves when we see another doing the same.

I went through a break up a couple months ago.

It happened in a day. One of those “last best days” sort of memories.

Walking around Boulder, coffee in hand – breakfast bagels in a bag.

Everything was ideal – until it wasn’t. Until my mouth felt dry from hanging open with no words falling out.

It was no one’s fault. I have no fingers to point. Which, when you think about it, is almost always more difficult than having the pain to pinpoint. I don’t have a pinpoint of pain. It just happened. Slowly, one event at a time. Miffed responses left unresolved – one miscommunication after another –

“Do we want the same things?”

Until eventually they forked into a road neither of us wanted to be on – lost in the weeds, dirt kicking up.

I think, as humans, we have a tendency to demand closure as though we deserve it. As though the scenes in our lives are put together as intricately as novels, but they’re not. In real life, relationships are messy, with shitty paragraphs, terrible word choices, ending too early or too late, and sometimes in the middle of a sentence – the middle of some great dialogue, and you’re left saying ”why the fuck did I read this anyway?”

I am awfully sentimental at the end of the day. Of belongings, people, places. It matters very little how positive or negative the experience was – I will remask it anyhow. If it shared some meaningful time in my life, I’ll have trouble letting go.

I love my ex, dearly. But, there’s an intricate difference in loving someone and loving the relationship that you build. How easy it is to love a human for everything they are – and resent them for everything they can’t give to you.

“You’re important to me,” I said that day. “I think if there’s anything that will last forever – and remain true – it’s that. Whether we separate, stay in touch or rarely speak again, you will always be that little someone I really do care for.”

“You’re my friend,” he said. “You were every future plan. I can’t picture a life where I don’t know what glass of wine you had with dinner. What book you’re crying over.”

On our final night, we laid beside each other on a bed. Our arm hairs touching.

“Will you stay?” He asked, once the decision no longer floated in the air. “We’ll miss each other forever, you know. We’ll forget the time. Misconstrue all our memories — barrel them into one container. Forget the little things. Our birthdays -”

“Don’t forget to get that mole checked out,” I smiled.

We were messy that night – but not in the way that requires touching. We were messier than touching can give. Messy the way I always am – and the way he never wanted me to be. It didn’t seem to matter anymore.

“You have me with tears in my ears,” I laughed at one point —  eyes to the ceiling, knocking my kneecaps together on his bed. “You have me with tears in my earlobes, forever. I can feel them sliding down into them.”
“I always thought you look beautiful when you cry,” he whispered — but he didn’t look at me – feet fastened to the ground. “Your skin glows. Every time, I always thought to myself ‘how can she be so fucking beautiful in the strangest ways?”

Everyone you meet has a part to play in your story.

To him, I’d say: It was a privilege to matter to you.

And I’m still reorganizing my life to clutter your absence.

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I don’t believe you are allowed to blame relapses on heartache – but you are allowed to use that pain to trace back to a starting point.

I lost a bit weight from March – May. Perhaps, I’ll always believe that to showcase pain – you have to see it.

I’ve gained back a few pounds over the last week or two. Life has a funny way of jolting you and then flatlining.

Technically, I’m healthy. I’m thin – but not “too thin.”

I’m thin where you notice (or so I like to think) but not thin where you worry.

That’s a fine line for anyone that has been where I am now.

How easy it is for us to notice others across from us – and not notice ourselves.

I would never inflict this mentality on anyone.

I would never look at a little person, or that girl across from me, who is starving themselves – binge eating – whatever. Running excessively.

And think “good for you, lil girl or boy.”

“You got this baby.”

I see people who are sick and my heart aches.

Mostly because I can see them when others can’t.

I’m the Houdini of eating disorders: the magic of presenting something you didn’t see before. I can always spot someone with an eating disorder.

It’s painful to see – and then, I wonder what others think of me?

Am I that to them?

Sometimes, maybe. Sometimes, no. Sometimes, for sure.

Regardless, this post surrounds the art of gaining back weight once you’ve let yourself lose it.

This is dedicated to all you anorexics that lost weight – and have to deal with it.

((P.S. This is not solely what anorexia is.))

Anorexia is a normal body size. Is an overweight body size.

Anorexia is not an emaciated stereotype.

But, tonight’s post: this shit I’m writing now –

Is for the people who need to gain weight. And know it. Have had it told to them.

Who have the voice in their head that knows they need to.

This is directed towards you.

I’m in this phase where I’ve lost weight and now gained a few pounds back.

Naturally you like to justify it, right?

I did it. I’m done.

Or more like…

OMG I’ve gained back like 3lbs in a week and OMG THIS WILL BE THE NORM FOREVER.



It’s hard to remind yourself that like, MY GOD, we have to gain back weight. And if your body isn’t where it naturally wants to be … it’ll get there … and likely stabilize.

Bodies work for you, yeah? They work for you. And we forget that.

We forget this whole body thing – it wants to work for you.

It’s like the eager college graduate that is biting at the bit for an entry level job.

It wants the ability to impress. To grow. To be malleable.

I have a few remaining pounds to gain back.

I can lie forever – lie to everyone.

But what’s the point?

How much do I still have to live for?

How many memories to still form?

I state this as a question.

But, I know.

I know that life is short – and passing.

I know, I know, I know.

I think about my best friend, ya know – he died so young. 18 years old.

It’ll be 10 years this September. What a life he missed.

I don’t want to miss mine.

We all die at some point.

Will we really be remembered by skin?

By a number?

Nah. You’re only remembered by the way other people felt around you.

Maya Angelou – whoever said that; they were right.

You’re only remembered by the feeling you gave to others.

The energy you put forth into the world.

You’re remembered by connection; by being raw.

Losing weight didn’t make the uncertainty of my future alter.

Losing weight didn’t “prove” to anyone that I was hurting over a relationship ending.

All it did was provide a distraction.

Entice that fear from my friends and family.

That validating fear from them so that I knew I was loved.

An extra layer over my heart so that I didn’t feel.

But, who doesn’t want to feel?

To feel is the bravest thing you can do.

And to feel means to hurt. And to love. And to experience those moments of happiness that you think your heart bursts at the seams.

I don’t want to experience love through sickness – through makeshift blocks of an eating disorder.

I want to experience love in its equality. Two people on the same page – who love each other not because they are sick, but because they are capable, strong, passionate.

So, if you’re in the boat I’m in right now – gain back your weight. Gain it with me so that we’re not sitting around being boring stick figures. Lifeless stick drawings walking up and down streets – so preoccupied and caught up in our shit that we forget to see that life is sweeping past us.

Gain back your bloody weight so we can be present again, human:

And so very alive.


6 {Real} Signs Of An Eating Disorder Relapse

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Haven’t written in awhile.

Mostly because —  I’ve lost weight — And I don’t know how (nor want) to talk about that.

How do you talk about the reality that’s occurring – and less about the past you can reflect on? (Writing about the past is so much simpler.)

What does it mean when you’re generally “okay” and yet — not being okay?

How do you write for the people you know that read this — put yourself out on the gurney —  and still make it human?

It’s hard to maintain a sense of transparency about your life – while also worrying about what other people will think.

So, I write in this way. In numerical values like this headline — because it seems easier to own.

6 “real” signs of a relapse.

I’m in one – but I’ll dig out of it.

And, I think, while I’m in it — it’s worth shedding light on the little manipulations we use in order to get away with it. Continue reading “6 {Real} Signs Of An Eating Disorder Relapse”

“If I Eat That, I’ll Have To Work Out”: Exercise With An Eating Disorder

Oh, Exercise. The ultimate double-edged sword of an eating disorder.



People ask me every so often “What was the hardest part of rehab?”

Depending on my mood, the answer varies.

“The food, the confinement, the emotion overload, the disparity of sick people… the exercise.”

Ah, the exercise, I always land on – or lack thereof.

3 years ago, I was escorted into rehab (yes, escorted. Two people at each side in the case that I bolted… and ran to the highway? I don’t know where the hell they expected me to go.)

Anyway, I remember looking around the vast expanse of my prison-like surroundings, and spotting what looked like a runner’s path.

Circular, brown dirted and perfectly suited to run on during what I assumed would be many hard days ahead, I was relieved to see this silver lining.

“YOU CAN TAKE MY BODY, BUT YOU CAN NEVER TAKE MY FREEDOM (TO EXERCISE)” – the William Wallace inside of me screamed. (Side note: Braveheart, oddly enough, happened to be a fan favorite to watch while in rehab. We were banned from all trash television, as well as any movie baring nudity of any sort – but yet, somehow, Braveheart slipped the radar.)

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As it goes.

Continue reading ““If I Eat That, I’ll Have To Work Out”: Exercise With An Eating Disorder”

Add A Pinch of Salt: Must We? Cooking With An Eating Disorder

Happy 2017 y’all! My fingers have finally found their way to the keyboard again and I couldn’t be more relieved. (Always have this mass blind anxiety that after each blog post I’ll suddenly run out of subjects and dive into a deep writers block and lose my voice and never write again and and… well, you get the picture.)

Anyway, I’d say my resolution is to write more consistently – but hey, I think resolutions are bullshit – and I don’t like writing unless I have a subject to delve into.

SO, with that being said, lez’ talk about cooking and eating disorders ’cause LORD – I gots some venting to do.

Pancakes from my roomie

Picture this:

The other night my roommate walks into our apartment right? And there I am leaned over on the kitchen counter – squinting at a laptop screen.

She halts in the doorway. “Are you cooking?”

I look up from said laptop, brow furrowed –  a dripping colander of black beans, a pan full of burnt rice, and reading some eye-rollingly beautiful blonde bloggers “easy, earth shattering sweet potato and grains bowl” recipe.

“I dunno what the hell I’m doing,” I say – turning back to the sink and pushing sweaty hair off my forehead.

SUCK IT BLOG LADY, I think. I hope all your cabbage rots and fumigates your 10,000$ oven.

“Well, this is interesting,” my roommate grins.

I make a face. “I’m on a budget.”

“Lemme know if you need anything,” she says – walking back towards her room (likely with deliberate stride).


“Jesus, NO. That’s the bulb.”

I sigh. Look over at my dog.

“Wanna give me your gruel?”

He did not.

Hello, Juno – you greedy bastard

The truth about cooking with an ED?

It’s a minefield.

Continue reading “Add A Pinch of Salt: Must We? Cooking With An Eating Disorder”

Independence Day Reminder: It’s Okay To Hate The Buffets


Quick reminder: buffets suck when you have an eating disorder. Buffets will always suck.

Accept that.

And yo – It’s okay to work out on a holiday. It’s okay to not work out either. Had the worst binge of my life on 4th of July 2013, sitting with my relatives and frantically shoving the buffet brownies and coleslaw and baked beans and biscuits in my mouth. I laid on the floor that night, throwing up bile in a toilet, and I thought to myself “I’ll never be okay – I won’t ever be normal.”

I was right then, I’m not “normal.” I am a girl with an eating disorder, and I have to manage it. I have to be proactive.

I worked out yesterday, the day before, and this morning, ran 4 miles- sat down and took a selfie on a treadmill – cause it’s okay to do that too. I know what I’m capable of and I know that I need a run in order to keep my lil Ed head straight on a holiday.

I write a lot about “eating whatever” on vacation or not working out when you don’t feel like it, but the truth is I do love exercise (cardio) … in moderation. I love a good run. I love to bike. I don’t give a shit about weights but I love to clear my head.

Do what ya gotta do to stay present, to stay whatever your version of “normal” is. None of us are normal – were all sittin around with issues and demons. So run if you need it, do yoga if you need it, meditate if you need it, walk if you want it. It’s okay. 

The buffet will never change. But you can change in order to survive it. Self care people, self care. 💛

Ladies, It’s “Crop Top” Season: Summer Life With Body Dysmorphia

UGH, it’s crop top season.

Alright guys, so I’ve been pretty MIA the past month and a half (unless you wanna count my previous red-faced emoji rant about the UK coverage as “blogging”) and I haven’t really been writing because truthfully, I’m like a lizard changing its stripes (is that even the idiom??)

Moving is a huge change- goes without saying – and I haven’t really wanted to write until I felt more settled, or at least more genuine, about what I’m even writing about.

Some days I wake up overlooking those Colorado mountains and think “This is where I was always meant to be,” and other days I wake up with this incessant loneliness, longing, and nostalgia for my life in New York.

The world is a playground and I can barely figure out where the slide is (also, I’m directionally challenged). Yes, I’m meeting people. Yes, I’ve gone on a few dates (post on that to come soon ’cause my GOD my relationship life is always a hot mess) and yes, I’m interviewing quite often for jobs, but it’s been over a month and I haven’t yet found that “comfort” of the familiar, and I find that theres always tis feeling of insecurity when meeting new people.

Sometimes, I think because I was sick for so long that I literally just didn’t learn basic human skills and abilities. I was so obsessed with food and being thin that like I missed the college lectures on how to balance a checkbook, or even the cultural staples of my generation.

I will never really be a girl that has “seen that movie,” “heard that song,” or “read that article.” I can tell you how many calories are in that banana by weight and size, but I have zero idea what Games of Thrones is, or what band sang that song – and that reality comes out when I’m meeting new people and like trying to relate to them in a basic millennial way. Therefore, I feel more insecure than usual.

I know I’m not meant to yet, but it is hard some days to not wake up and go straight to g-chatting my former co-workers as I lay in bed picturing them in their offices. Picturing the sounds of the office, knowing who’s always late to work, who is getting their 8th coffee –

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Co-workers! (one of the few times I wore a dress)

I miss my familiar. I miss my work husband walking into my office every morning, happy hours with my female coworkers at the wine bar across the street – knowing which subway line will be delayed – and even the comfort of “the crazies” who roam the subway trains spouting off about religion, and how we’re all going to hell.

I miss my banana waiting for me on my desk, and a granola bar in my office desk for breakfast.

I miss New York – yet I know it’s over. Funny how people do that, yah? How when we lose something, we have this human ability to only remember the good, and negate all the negative.

Anyway, I know in my heart I made the right decision – but you leave pieces of your soul wherever you roam.

Continue reading “Ladies, It’s “Crop Top” Season: Summer Life With Body Dysmorphia”

When Your Eating Disorder Looks Like A Freak Show

UK articles
Feelin’ about 50 shades of WTF.
Haven’t posted in a hot minute because I’ve been struggling a bit in this transition to Denver (love the city, love my life here – but just having some control issues that OF COURSE manifest into weight loss) and I’m working through them with daily OA meetings. (Post to come on OA soon.)
However, I’m coming out of the woodwork because I am all sorts of emoji red face P.O’ed
Everything in that picture above is what I loathe about the portrayal of eating disorders.
Yesterday, I woke up and these article headlines about me ran on the UK Daily Mail, Sun, and Mirror.
YEP GUYS -there I am – the two-headed eating disorder freak show splattered across UK media.
My agenda every day is to represent recovery in a way that relates to ALL yet time and time again the world has a tendency to portray people with eating disorders as though we are some fictitious character straight outta American Horror Story.
Don’t get me wrong – I’m thankful every single day for the opportunity to write about this shiz. It’s kept me connected with the community as well as find an outlet of accountability, but the problem with this kind of portrayal is that it sends the message to people that you have to be “that” sick to really have an eating disorder.
It discourages people from voicing their struggle because they look at horror headlines like that and think to themselves “Oh, well I’m not vomm’ing blood into a toilet – I guess I’m not really that bad.”
The truth is, am I proud of those articles content? Yes. The journalist was respectful and asked real, human questions about my recovery and ED experience. She does not choose headlines, and I have nothing but kind words to say about our interview process.
However, when I read these headlines, I absolutely bloody cringe. Not only because it’s grossly and salaciously manifesting as cheap click bait, but because the headlines heighten my experience with body dysmorphia and eating disorders in a glorified one-of-a-kind manner.
Did I feel and do all those things? Yes. I did have trouble sitting on a subway. I passed people on the SIDEWALK (not street) and had moments that I panicked. “WHAT IF I RUN INTO THEM WITH MY THIGHS.”
I was very sick. I’d never deny that and I’ve got a whole helluva lot of war stories- we all do in recovery, as I’m learning through my resurgence of OA meetings.
Half of recovery is letting those “war stories” go and moving forward.
I just want to reiterate today that I was still a real person back when I was sick. I went to work like anyone else (albeit not fully present), and I functioned as best as i could.  At the end of the day my experience is really no more extreme than anyone else out there struggling with BDD and ED.
PLEASE REMEMBER — You don’t have to have “bloody vomit” and “fear of walking down the street” to quality for an ED or BDD, just as you don’t need to have a salacious bikini pic to qualify as “recovered.”
I hurt myself a lot over the years, and I am still learning what it means to be healthy of mind. However, I want to continue to reiterate that you don’t have to look, act, or be any certain way to suffer from ED.
Ignore those headlines – not everyone’s experience with mental illness has these glorified extremes that they imply.
If you are sick, you know. You know because your life is passing – one day after the other- and you’re missing it, and it’s sad. 💛

Wherever You Go, There You Are: Moving With An Eating Disorder

I officially live in Denver, y’all.

Garden Life

Scratch that. I officially live in a Jungle. Just call me Tarzan, or Jane. Whichever floats your boat.

As I lay here this afternoon, feeling both nostalgic for NYC as well as overwhelmed, terrified, and elated about everything else going on in my new life in Denver:

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I’ve realized that I’m now living the exact mantra my therapist quoted at me 100x before I made this move:

“Wherever you go, there you are.”

In 5 years, I’ve lived in 5 places:

Fayetteville, Arkansas (c. 2007- 2011)

Seville, Spain (c. 2011- 2012)

Fort Worth, Texas (c. 2012 -2013)

New York, New York (c. 2013- 2016)

Denver, Colorado (c. 4 DAYS)

I’ve lived in about the most conservative state in the US – to the most liberal. I’ve lived in the state that thinks it IS its own country, and I’ve lived in a country that prides itself on siestas (can you even imagine if NYC were to implement such a thing. LOLZ. Does nodding off on the subway count?)

I’m idealistic to a fault; every place is better than the last. I’ve experienced American “life” at many different angles; in many different perspectives – but hey, GUESS WHAT?

 At the end of the day, none of it “fixed me.” I still have my bloody eating disorder.

Moving – again – does not change that I have to maintain my ED, and that’s a reality I’m coping with today.

It doesn’t streamline recovery, or evaporate the habits you created over the years. I don’t get to walk into a new apartment and say “Hi Ms. Denver, here’s the trash from my eating disorder – could you toss it please? Thx!”

Changing environments doesn’t mute the voice in your head. I will always be in recovery; and no matter what stigma I surround myself with, my environment will not “cure” me.

I have to choose to cure me every day, and right now it’s a struggle to center myself because I’m vulnerable and antsy and out of place and over-stigmatized.

I’ve always had this quirky idealism about moving (lies- okay about everything).


I’m like a stage 5 clinger to cities. (Insert mental image of me wrapping myself around a New York skyline, planting sloppy kisses on the wall of the Drumpf Tower… )

I’ve shuffled through cities about as quickly as I’ve shuffled through partners – and in the past, I’ve always inevitably felt deflated when one or the other didn’t just “fix me.”

Continue reading “Wherever You Go, There You Are: Moving With An Eating Disorder”

“Are There, Like, Cals In Gum?”: Life As A Calorie Counter

It should qualify as a skill set.

I was revamping my resume the other day (for my big ole move to Denver tomorrow! P.S. HIRE ME PLZ) and as I was modifying my skills I actually had a moment ((while eating Greek Yogurt and a handful of almonds)), that I smirked to myself and considered including:

  • Fluency in Calorie Counting
    • Sharp cache for all sugar, carb, fat, and sodium grams
    • Extensive fieldwork into the calorie counts of all processed and baked goods
    • Well-versed to all sugar in fruit juices, caffeine, and alcohol

Eating disorders are amazing lil boogers. I was completely focused on perfecting the language of my resume and yet as I glanced down at the yogurt, I caught a SMIDGEN of the label and my brain went all “Beautiful Mind” and added the calories of the almonds and yogurt quicker than I could stop myself.


Not to brag, but I am like the Speedy Gonzalez of calorie counting. My brain doesn’t really retain historical info, or anything actually pertinent or useful- but bloody hell, I can count calories on a plate of food about as quick as Kobayashi can choke down a hot dog.

hot dog

Continue reading ““Are There, Like, Cals In Gum?”: Life As A Calorie Counter”

8 Tips To Cope With Body Dysmorphia and Eating Disorder Dayze

…Cause literally Eating Disorders and Body Dysmorphia are a daze – ammirite? You walk around trying to exist; put on your work face; your social face; your public face – and inside you just feel all this guilt and shame for being so self-absorbed.

Now, don’t jump down my throat. You’re not necessarily self-absorbed. But, BDD and EDs do make you seem that way. When you can’t be present in a conversation, when you’re flaky as hell on all social engagements, or when you realize you can’t pass a glass window on a New York street without turning to observe whether or not your ass grew from the block before – it just gets exhausting. And honestly, embarrassing.

I have no joke run right into someone while distracted by my thighs in a window reflection.

“You’re lookin fine, gorgeous,” he said sarcastically as he bristled past me.


2 years into recovery, you can still catch me doing that it’s true- but in treatment, my team and I developed coping mechanisms for dealing with the bad days. Some are helpful; some might be cornier than others. It just kinda depends on what type of person you are in terms of what will work for you.

Feel free to share your own. As always, I’m just a girl with an ED – no more special or wise than the rest of you. Continue reading “8 Tips To Cope With Body Dysmorphia and Eating Disorder Dayze”