#body image disorder

[feministgrungepunkgrrrl]

What is Reverse Anorexia?

There is an eating disorder and body image disorder sometimes called reverse anorexia which gets left out of the eating disorder and body positivity worlds. Usually it stems from people who are naturally skinny being made to feel like they have to be bigger and eat more, which often comes from how society treats skinny people, but it can also be internal. Sometimes it’s an overcorrection from society assuming that skinny people are anorexic, so someone might overeat to make sure they aren’t starving themselves or to prove to others they aren’t. It can also be based off of personal control or obsessive compulsion.

It’s called reverse anorexia because it has similar symptoms of anorexia but in the opposite direction. For example, instead of seeing yourself as too big and starving yourself to control food intake and lose weight, you see yourself as too small and overeat to control food intake and gain weight. While the term reverse anorexia has been used more for men who want to be more muscular, it also can refer to wanting to gain fat, and people of all genders can have it. Here are some of the symptoms:

*Feeling fear of being skinny, having bones showing, or losing weight *Feeling fear of not eating enough, being malnutritioned, having the effects of not getting enough nutrition such as passing out, being hungry, or feeling empty *Obsessing over your small frame or bones sticking out, in hopes of getting bigger *Having nightmares about being skinny or having bones showing *Eating when you aren’t hungry *Eating on routine, around the clock, or always making sure you eat at least 3 big meals a day or many meals throughout the day, even when your body is never hungry for that much *Feeling like you should eat big portions and finish your plate, and not stopping eating when you are full *Eating so much you accidentally puke because your stomach can’t fit all of the food in it *Eating junk foods in hopes of gaining weight, and avoiding healthy foods in fear of losing weight or in fear of comments from people. Feeling like you are doing the right thing by binging on junk food *Feeling a sense of wanting control when it comes to eating or weight, which comes out in forcing yourself to eat more than you are hungry, or trying different things to get bigger *Confusing the feelings of being full and being hungry, to where you think you are hungry when you are full or when you just ate *Wearing baggy clothes, layers, or long sleeves or pants even in the summer to hide your small body or look bulkier *Wearing less clothing when you have gained weight because you are more comfortable in a bigger body *Using weight gainer supplements *Taking black market pills that are advertised to “give you bigger curves” *Seeing yourself as skinnier than you actually are *Feeling fear of your clothes becoming looser because it means you have lost weight *Loving it when you have gained weight, and hating it when you have lost weight *Feeling good and encouraged to continue when people say you “look healthy” when you’ve gained weight *Loving it when people say you “look curvy” because they always mean that as a compliment and as a way to say you’ve gotten bigger, so it’s like a way of saying “you look better” *Liking it when people watch you eat because it shows them you aren’t starving yourself *Liking it when people compliment how much you’ve eaten, such as, “Oh good job! You finished your plate” *Hating it when people watch you eat because you’re afraid of people watching and judging to see if you eat it all, or it triggers you to eat more if they tell you to eat a cheeseburger instead of a salad or tell you that you didn’t eat enough *Avoiding weighing yourself so that you can convince yourself you’re fine *Constantly weighing yourself in hopes of gaining weight. Feeling fear of the scale going down. Loving it when you see bigger numbers on the scale *Obsessively looking in the mirror to check your physical appearance *Regularly measuring different parts of your body with measuring tape to make sure you don’t get smaller or to check progress with getting bigger *Feeling fear or anxiousness about not physically taking up enough space, especially when sitting next to someone or being near people *Avoiding exercising for fear of losing any weight *Trying to find exercises that say they will make you look bigger in the parts of your body you feel are too small *Anxiousness when going clothes shopping and having to buy the smallest sizes *Avoiding social interactions due to self consciousness about your weight or the way you look *Avoiding counting calories so that you can be in denial of just how much you are overeating, or to prove to yourself or others that you aren’t anorexic *Counting calories to make sure you are getting a lot *Feeling fear of getting an illness or vomiting, since people often lose weight when sick *Feeling anxious when you have taken a large bowel movement, or fear that you will take a large bowel movement, because it means you have lost some weight *Getting plastic surgery or a fat transfer surgery to try to appear bigger (continued in comments...)

[toastedcrumbs]

⭐Ethereal th!spO !!

[teaboot]

God I hate scrolling through Aesthetic and Transmasc tags and repeatedly getting blasted with a neck-deep wave of "pro-ana" #hashtag #Thinspo diet culture liquid diet grapefruit cleanse hip dip thigh gap top 10 easy meals under 10 calories low-carb keto Before And After Journey lose weight FAST! self care burn-fat-fast smart-snacking flat tummy bullshit

I don't even HAVE an eating disorder and here I am scrambling to block this crap taking -10 psychic damage every time a #coquette #gothic #dark academia thigh-high sock flies past like a string of paper lanterns in a hurricane

fUCK

[the-ugly-ly]

the best part about being thin is feeling so precious and dainty.

i looooove when a man picks me up like i’m absolutely nothing. not a grunt or a wheeze. just scooping me safely into his arms like a flower. ugh.

[bevsi]

god it’s even easier for a celebrity to blatantly have an ED now than it was in 2004. cause you’ll have your fans defending you like “she’s just healthy and vegan and stop assuming things about people’s bodies she was actually super unhealthy at a healthy weight❤️”

[warm-autumn-evenings]

scars are normal. scars are a physical proof of your body’s ability to heal. scars make it known that you’re alive. you’re marked by life. the raised scars, the keloids, the scars people stare at you for. they’re a visual map of your life & nothing more. scars have no morality scars don’t reflect on the morality of your existence. media loves to portray scars on monsters and villains and leave the heroes to be unmarred, but that narrative does not apply to real life. you’re a whole human being worthy of being seen, loved, respected.

[yearningsaphic]

Does anyone else look in the mirror long enough and examine your features to the point where you start to get physically nauseous? Just me? Ok

[floorpancakes]

[desultory-suggestions]

Your body is not a trend. You don’t need to adjust how your body naturally looks to the newest favorable fashion or the supposed height of beauty. Our bodies are not meant to be forced into shapes that they are not. There will always be new ideals, new suggestions in the media of what a good body looks like. None of that is true, no body is better than any other and no body is bad. You deserve to exist in your full and natural beauty without the pressure to change based on anyone else’s opinion.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

thinking about killer gaining more weight in his good ending over the years as he heals and recovers and has more access to consistent food and slowly relearns how to reconnect to his body and understand/care about its needs and the increased dissociation and discomfort as his body changes in st2 and yet some comfort as it becomes more sans-like for st1 and also color being so supportive and loving and just you know, body worship

[sunsetsandhope]

daily reminder, food is not your enemy, the number on scale doesn't define you as a person, the size of your clothing has nothing to do with your personality, and if you struggle with ed, recovery, body image issues or body dysmorphia, i hope it will pass and one day it will become a distant memory for us.

[magniloquent-raven]

I am once again plagued with thoughts that aren't 100% coherent so imma just ramble for a bit, pls gather 'round for some stuff about Billy and body image issues cuz I'm in my feels rn.

Billy spends a lot of time staring at Nancy.

Enough that Tommy's noticed and he starts ribbing him about it. "That's one thing of Steve's you might want to stay away from," bitter and pointed. Enough that Jonathan Byers gives him the stink eye whenever he's within glaring distance. Enough that a handful of the more desperate chicks still high off the fumes of his New Kid smell have started dressing like fucking librarians in hopes of catching his eye.

He doesn't give a shit about any of it, if anything the rumour mill is helping him out for once. Less work involved in keeping up appearances if everyone just assumes he isn't sleeping around because he's too busy sniffing Wheeler's granny panties.

As long as no one guesses the real reason, it's fine. It's fucking peachy. It's one silver lining in this shitstorm of a situation.

He's so tired of his eyes inevitably being drawn to her barely-there tits and tiny waist. Every time he's bored at lunch, his gaze wanders. When he's in the library pretending to study, there she fucking is, even smaller when she's hunched over a pile of cue cards.

The longer he looks at her the more sure he is that Steve will never really want him.

Steve's slept with plenty of girls. A variety of girls. He probably couldn't afford to be too picky in this shitty little town. But he's only fallen in love once. One time. The only time it mattered what he was sticking his dick in was when it was in Nancy Wheeler.

And Billy...will never be her. Not even close.

He'll only ever be a warm mouth and a convenient hand, he'll never matter.

She's flat, and thin. Willowy, narrow-shouldered. Petite. Inches shorter than him and nearly half as broad. Thin fingers and delicate wrists. She fit comfortably under Steve's arm, she could nestle safely into his side.

And it was all so fucking easy for her. She never had to try.

She never had to piss off her dad so she'd be forced to skip meals. She never did laps around her neighbourhood until she was lightheaded and doubled over, dry-heaving in someone's hedge. She was never forced to sign up for baseball as a child, poked and prodded and guilted into it because a couple shirts were starting to get tight across the stomach, and being a momma's boy was bad enough, being a fat, lazy piece of shit too was unacceptable.

He used to think he'd done well, maintaining the physique he has. He's worked hard for it. Scraping together his savings for a weight set and keeping careful track of his calorie intake and never skipping a single fucking day of exercise, hangovers and broken bones be damned. And it's fucking useful, truth be told. More than keeping away the echo of old insults bouncing around in his head, it's made flirting that much easier.

But the more he looks at Nancy Wheeler, the more he hates the things he can't change. It gets into his head. Digs in deep, leaving scars on its way down.

He thinks Steve might've noticed.

He knows Steve has heard the stupid rumours about Wheeler, and probably chalked it up to Billy being an asshole, as usual. But it's harder to explain away his sudden tendency to go extremely still whenever Steve puts his hands anywhere on his torso. A palm pressed to his chest, slipped under his shirt, or fingertips digging into his back, or a casual fucking pat on the shoulder—whatever it is, he can't help freezing up, if only for a second, a sick feeling twisting his stomach, cold and shameful and clawing at his lungs.

And then, eventually, they argue.

It's over nothing. And everything. Billy can't explain what his fucking damage is, and Steve can't stop needling in the wrong places. They scream at each other until their throats are raw and Billy leaves when his knuckles start to itch.

He cries all the way home and doesn't eat for four days. Not on purpose. Not consciously. He's just. Fucking. Busy. He's busy. He's always gotta drive Max somewhere or dodge Neil's thinly veiled threats or lock himself in his room when bile starts to bubble up in the back of his throat and his head pounds and he doesn't think about why he's snapping at everyone constantly, he just pounds back a couple beers and goes to sleep. And then it's four days later, and he's flying off the handle at Neil, too sluggish and lightheaded to see the hit coming, and...

Steve comes to see him at the hospital. He hasn't told anyone anything but they've got him hooked up to a banana bag and the nurses keep making sad eyes at him when they come to check his stitches.

He hates it, sitting around doing nothing, being closely monitored every fucking second, it make his skin crawl, and he hates it even more when Steve's standing in the doorway looking at him.

Not for the first time, he's overwhelmed wondering what exactly Steve sees.

He's a fucking mess right now. Greasy hair tangled at the back, bruises peeking out from under the collar of his gross papery hospital gown, one eye swollen shut and a dark tangle of thread holding his eyebrow together. It feels stupid to get stressed about all the shit that usually bothers him when there's so many other things to worry about, but he still finds himself shifting in place, hunching his shoulders, hiding his hands in the crooks of his elbows.

It's sort of a disaster. Worse than last time they saw each other. Billy's not in the mood for Steve's apologies and Steve's at a loss for what else to say.

They don't see each other again for months. Steve graduates. Billy avoids anywhere he thinks Steve might be, and lies awake at night haunted by stolen touches.

He catches a glimpse of Steve through the red haze of storm clouds and cold lightning, tears blurring his vision, the Mind Flayer wearing him like a suit. Their cars collide, and everything whites out for a second.

He's in the hospital again when they finally talk. Billy rolls his eyes at "We've gotta stop meeting like this," and tries not to think about last time he was here. Steve seems more than willing to ignore it. Move forward. Guess demonic possession puts some things into a different perspective.

When Billy's released from the hospital he's seventeen pounds heavier than he was a few months ago. Every time the nurses did their check-ups and put him on the scale they'd pat his elbow, smiling encouragingly, telling him how good he was doing while he watched his stomach get softer, his biceps get less defined, watched himself disappear beneath a layer of fat.

The first thing he does when he gets home is throw up.

He doesn't make it happen. It just happens. And he blames it on the meds they have him on. It's a plausible enough reason, and it means he doesn't have to interrogate the tiny spark of satisfaction he got from losing his lunch.

His second day back home Neil asks him when he's going to start exercising again. His expression is pinched. Cold. His eyes are ice chips freezing Billy's skin wherever they touch, lingering on the softness under his chin, and where the hem of his sleeve pinches his skin.

He pushes his dinner away and grits out an answer from between clenched teeth.

He doesn't need the reminder that he's gotten weak while he was trapped in a hospital bed, but Neil gives it to him anyways. Tells him all about everything he should do to get things back to normal. Push past the pain. Work harder. He tunes it out after a while, and watches grease congeal on his meatloaf.

Eddie Munson is the first person to bring up the things Billy's never known how to talk about.

They started hanging out after Billy's most recent brush with death. Billy's not sure exactly how the got here, from buying the occasional painkiller and letting the guy wax poetic about his dumb band, to spending weekends getting high together at the trailer park. But as weird things in his life go, it's barely worth questioning.

This particular conversation starts with Chrissy Cunningham.

Specifically, Eddie's massive boner for her.

Billy's been noticing it for a while. He hasn't been letting it bother him.

He hasn't.

Maybe he likes the way Eddie smiles at him when they pass a joint back and forth, lazily stretched out and wearing three less layers than usual, and maybe he thinks about closing the distance between them when Eddie offers to shotgun, but it doesn't fucking matter. Just like it doesn't matter that Steve hasn't touched him since before the Mind Flayer and things are fucking weird now that they're on speaking terms again. None of it matters, he's just a fucking idiot.

Because Steve and his new best friend Robin are attached at the hip lately and everyone can see where that's going, and Eddie won't stop talking about tiny, pretty, perfect fucking Chrissy and her stupid ponytail.

And Billy...Billy gets winded walking up the porch steps at his house now. And he pulled a muscle in his back trying to lift half the weight he used to press. And last week he burned three pairs of jeans in the backyard because he kept grabbing them out of his laundry pile, not realizing they don't fit anymore until he was struggling to pull them up past his knees.

He's lost the one thing people used to actually like about him. Never the people he wanted, he was never enough for that, but it was something. Now he's just...

Now he's just listening to a guy he likes talk about some goddamn cheerleader like she personally hung the moon just for him.

And he's drunk. They're both drunk. Eddie in a soppy, embarrassing way, with a sparkle in his eye and a flush on his cheeks, an arm across the back of the couch, outstretched far enough that the tips of his fingers almost brush Billy's shoulder.

He wants to move closer. Thinks about shuffling into Eddie's space, curling into the warmth at his side. But it twists in his guts, sours, sickens—he couldn't, he can't. And he hates himself for wanting to.

"What do you see in her?" spills out of his mouth, bitter on his tongue and sharpened by anger he has no right to feel.

She's pretty. He expects it. She's pretty, she's perfect. She's a fucking angel even though her and Eddie only know each other because she buys drugs off of him. But she can do no wrong because she looks like a little china doll with sad eyes and everyone would be devastated if a single hair on her tiny delicate head was harmed.

Eddie only looks thrown off for a second. A moment. But he shrugs it off, leans his head back against the couch cushions and grins at the ceiling. "She likes my music."

Since fucking when.

"So, what, it's just an ego stroking thing then."

"Nah, man. I mean. Like. She's got this whole good-girl thing going on, but you should see her when I pull out my guitar, it's fuckin'...magic. When she lets herself just. Live." He wiggles his fingers in the air, arms spread, then drops them back down.

Billy's heart clenches, squeezes. It hurts and he doesn't know why. "Bullshit."

"Nah, nah. Seriously. The guy she's dating is a fucking asshole. And her mom..." he trails off, and rubs his eye. "She's just got all this pressure to be perfect, act a certain way, look a certain way, be a certain way, and I hate seeing what it does to her, man. I hate it. No one should have to deal with all that. So. I dunno. I like helping her cut loose. Sorta, find herself, I guess." He cracks a crooked smile, casting a glance in Billy's direction.

And his smile drops.

"Billy?" He sits up, cautious, eyebrows up and his eyes wide.

Billy turns away, shocked into motion, wiping at his face with his sleeve. "I'm fine. Fuck off."

He didn't notice he was crying until Eddie looked at him like he'd seen a ghost.

"Yeah, obviously."

"Fuck you."

Eddie doesn't get much more out of him that night. But he starts watching Billy like a hawk after that. Checking in on him at random. Calling if they haven't seen each other in a few days. It should be irritating as fuck, and he acts like it is, but he still basks in the attention.

Doesn't hurt that it seems to annoy Steve to no end.

Especially doesn't hurt when, in a fit of apparent jealousy, Steve shoves Billy into a wall and kisses him like his life depends on it.

The hurt comes when Steve starts to unbutton Billy's shirt and Billy reflexively shoves him away, when he wants to keep going but wants it to stop and can't tell Steve either of those things because he doesn't have the words.

So he gets angry. At Steve, for pushing it, crossing lines he can't even see. But mostly at himself, because it might be easier than standing there heartbroken but he knows it's the worst thing he could do.

And at Steve, again, when the he doesn't respond the way he should. Doesn't punish Billy for doing the wrong thing, reacting wrong, being wrong. He doesn't withdraw and save himself, he tries to understand, tries to talk it out, like this is something Billy can just say out loud and it'll all be fixed.

He doesn't explain. Not that day. But he lets Steve hold him while he cries, ugly gasping sobs into the front of Steve's shirt, curled up in his lap, collapsed on the floor and tangled together. Because despite everything he's told himself, he does fit comfortably in Steve's arms.

💜tag list ppl💜 @spreckle @growup-thatbeautiful @prettyboy-like-you @suddenlyinlove

[lousydrawingsforgoodpeople]

[iwasntborntobe-a-skeleton]

I have a tummy now. Round and soft and always there. It’s incredibly hard to love most of the time. Three years ago, looking at how I look now would have made me spiral into shame and self-harm and relapse. It’s still hard to look in the mirror most days.

But sometimes I can hold my round little tummy and know that it’s a sign of me enjoying life, of eating what I want and loving food and my friends and my life. My girlfriend holds me and kisses me and tells me I’m beautiful and I know she means all of me, including my fat and my softness and roundness.

I know I will always be in recovery. I know it will likely always be hard. But I also know that I can do it, and that slowly I am becoming more able to genuinely not care that my body has changed, is changing, will change.

I’m still alive. And I’m so grateful.

[crazylittlejester]

i see so much of Warriors with an eating disorder where he’s starving himself and wants to be thinner (for whatever reason, ive seen a lot of different ones), and like slay, love those headcanons, keep going crazy everyone, im obsessed with it /gen

but may I suggest:

Warriors who wants so desperately to not look as thin as he does. Warriors who because of all the attempts on his life has become so scared to eat anything but his safe foods that he can’t get enough food to prevent him from losing weight during the war. Warriors who wishes more than anything he could he as muscular and big as Twilight but who’s body won’t let him because he can’t gain the weight required for that no matter how hard he tries and no matter how much progress he makes. Warriors who LOVES food, and loves cooking for people he loves, but who sometimes is physically unable to eat anything but his safe foods because hes too afraid of being poisoned and he gets frustrated with himself for being unable to eat. Warriors who wishes he weren’t as thin, but there is literally nothing he can do about it. Warriors who is still strong, but who has a build similar to a ballet dancer’s and is all muscle and bones.

And Warriors who is slowly healing, slowly gaining weight (even if he doesn’t see it) who will one day look at himself in the mirror and genuinely smile, happy with how far he’s come

[artofkhaos404]

Wouldn't it be such a shift of perspective for fatphobes if they could see what goes on in our daily lives as plus sized people?

I'm over here trying to convince myself it's okay to eat lunch and that I don't have to hide my food from my family members. My 120lb home girl? She just had pasta, a hot dog, a piece of bread and half of a bagel.

WHERE DO YOU SKINNY FOLK PUT IT ALL?!