eating disorder

Here’s the dilemma I find myself facing pretty much every time I think about fat/weight/diabetes/bullshit sold to us by the media/mostly Weight Watchers: What is true?

The really screwed up thing is, there was never a point at which what I saw in the mirror would have been my real reflection.

I have particular standards of beauty that I believe apply to my body — my body, and no one else’s.

I have particular standards of beauty that I believe apply to my body — my body, and no one else’s.

I wish I could say that every mistake I’ve made, every lousy decision, is all a manifestation of my faulty brain chemistry and mental illness.

A bipolar, body-positive bread enthusiast with a fucked-up ankle and a history of disordered eating chronicles health, weight-loss,

This week is baking week. No, not nationally or anything, but in my house, this week is the week all the things are made.

Most days I am confident with how I look and how I feel, but I worry I may never be able to completely banish those thoughts about my flaws and imperfections. I know that every time you catch me focusing on my physical insecurities, you learn a lesson that could hurt you, or force you into this battle I face.