silly little girls with dangerous addictions and smart phones

Ah ED communities on social media. I am too old for this and too old for hashtagging nicknames of disorders that kill people. But I’ll do it anyway, because that’s how you find the similar ones, so you can all lump together and pretend to be supportive, where every like on a photo says: yes you deserve to recover! yes stay strong and make it through your fast! yes keep taking those laxatives!

It’s a sick place, but also a safe place, where we can all be sick together. A little instagram world where everyone’s told that they’re beautiful, and even if you’re bigger there’s a waif saying “I wish I looked like you, #goals!!”, and dangerous behaviours are rationalised and supported. Then the odd outsider swooping in to tell you you’re “not fat, you’re stupid” or that they’re praying for you (yes, thank you very much, such good it’s doing me).

Sometimes I play with the idea of making a proper little tumblr again. Not as bloggy as daypatience was (the tumblr I kept whilst going through the day patient hospital program), more like schlank or tinywrists (tumblrs I had in 2010-2011, when I dropped down to my lowest weight). Ribs and protruding bits that you didn’t know existed. Pictures of watercolour deer. Don’t need that anymore – I went and got one painted on my damn body. Fondly remembering getting hundreds of notes on my ‘before and after’ picture, and times when my progress shots were stolen and used to make ‘motivational’ posts.

There’s something inherently childish about this whole thing. It’s a “look mom what I can do!” and the pestering and whinging, the repeating mistakes because it hasn’t really sunk in that you’re doing something that’s going to hurt worse this time. The selfishness, too. And, more literally, the strops and tantrums, crying and silent screams and balled fists, the hiding under the duvet.

Regression is strong with me today.

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