#fat shaming and wishing someone would relapse so they can lose weight? fuck off.

[spieluhrzeit]

you think you're so slick don't you hiding behind that anon toggle? i wish you had the courage to put a name and pfp to this horrible ask

i sometimes make drug references, but NEVER at richard's expense. even if the song i'm imagining an animatic to fits despite having a drug reference.

it's just not right. i sincerely hope you get a hobby or something anon

Richard needs to start doing coke again so he can be skinny again lol

I debated deleting this ask, or answering it with a meme, which didn't seem fitting in the long run. I know, I should ignore dumb messages like this, but it's so much shit in one pile, it does compel me to address it.

1. Richard has a whole history with drug abuse, which stretches from the early 90's into the early 2000's. He once mentioned that as soon as he stepped foot into the recording studio, he had the urge to consume drugs, to get that thrill to be able to work endlessly.

"I was killing myself. I was doing too many drugs. I took drugs just to work. Constantly, constantly, constantly." (article)

Most likely to be able to fuel his obsessive perfectionism when it came to music, to battle his need for appreciation and acknowledgement, to drive him further into creative spheres, doing all that while accepting the risk of killing himself, making his kids half-orphans in the process, ruining the band with his insufferable tendencies. Sounds like super fun, right?

2. Richard is pushing 60 and even though the media and society likes to disregard this little thing called "aging", it very much happens! Who would've thought that the body changes as the decades go by! Richard doesn't look like he's 30 anymore, and thank fucking God. Thank God he doesn't, thank God he got off drugs before it was too late, thank God he is able to go through life without snorting a line of coke several times a day, since he had the strength to go to therapy and through drug withdrawal. So what if he's a bit more now, good for him if he feels good in his body. I'd rather see him thick and voluptuous on stage than reading on his Wikipedia page "died age xy on a drug overdose", like many other musicians in the scene. But good to know you would embrace that possibility 👍🏻

3. If you're so much into (partly) drug-induced thinness, how about a little example, some late 1970s/early 1980s Jimmy Page perhaps? Who suffered from drug abuse through years without end?

Looks good right? Fine and healthy and like someone who is really thriving, is he not?

I'm very glad both Richard and Jimmy won their battle against drug abuse, since this is not a given. Many, famous or not, lost it.

Richard is alive, well, gives us his best on stage. Messages like yours disgust me to no end, mindsets like yours are downright dangerous, are a sign of utter stupidity and have no place whatsoever in this fandom. The "lol" behind it doesn't make it light-hearted, it makes it fucking dumb and even more immature.

Fuck off, and grow up.

[inflatingnblue]

I just wanna say that you’re beautiful, all the kinky shit aside. I’ve been getting posts recommended to me on my tumblr fyp that say you liked them, and they’re all horrible upsetting pro-ana stuff, and I don’t know if those are old likes or new ones, but I hope you aren’t falling prey to those demons. They’re always wrong, and all they ever want is to erase you and make you less of who you’re meant to be. You deserve better 💜

This is a long one, friends, so feel free to skip.

First, thank you for sending, Anon. You didn't have to and you still did.

Recovery is complicated, and that's an understatement. Although I like Violet and "blowing up," that's all in fantasy land. In the real world, I would like nothing more than to lose weight.

For the longest time I've believed that my worth comes from being thin and beautiful, that things would make sense and fall into place. That I wouldn't hate myself anymore if I could just get to the right size and then being the right size would also equate to beauty.

I started gaining weight after I was in recovery for a year. I gained a lot over the course of several years. I couldn't figure out what was wrong; working with my dietitian, going to the doctor's, getting test after test to just be told 🤷🏻‍♀️. I thought I was losing my mind. It was really hard to focus on recovery and I slipped a lot.

I was (and still am) extremely aware of how much space I take up and compared myself to those around me. I was (and still am) extremely aware of the fat shaming that happens around me. I hated leaving the house because I knew I would be judged for my size, and that judgment is still a fear I experience today.

I relapsed during 2022 and lost a "significant" amount of weight. I'm using quotes because that's how my therapist described it. I wish I had lost more so it didn't seem significant enough. Then in 2023 I finally found the answer I was looking for - lipedema. I was very grateful to know what was wrong, but it still sucks.

This year I've been working on recovery and it's been fucking difficult. I can't seem to just stay on one side. One day I'm gonna do my best and eat regularly and try to be nice to myself. The next day I may flip and start thinking about weight loss. This time the ED would work, I'll make sure it works. Pat myself on the back if I didn't eat while in the office or got a certain number of steps in. It's exhausting ping ponging back and forth.

My FYP matches that ping pong game. Sometimes I'm not even looking for ED related stuff and it hits me in the face. This might sound weird to some - EDs are very seductive. They can easily be called an addiction. My neuropathways are ready and raring to go down the highway to ED Land. Sometimes I can stop it along the way and sometimes I can't. Some of the posts feel comforting because I know I'm not alone. Some of the posts would be pretty alarming for most people with the imagery and text. I know it's not helpful to look at the pro ana and ED related posts. Just like I can be in awe with how big someone's tummy is, I can also be in awe of various pro ana content.

I know the actual problem is feeling like I don't deserve better. I punish myself for not meeting the high expectations I've collected over the years. Self compassion is still a foreign concept. Logically I understand why it's important to practice, it just seems wrong for some reason.

Again, Anon, I really appreciate you reaching out and voicing concern. It's helpful to hear the same positive and supportive messages from different areas of my life. And I'm sorry you're getting these recommendations. I didn't realize that would happen and now I remember I turned off the option to get recommendations. 😬 Just know I heard you. I'm sure you already know that change is slow, although I'll be more mindful of what I like on here.

Thanks 💙

[jinxedncharmed]

OK, so the TL;DR version of this is: We went out to celebrate a coworker's new job last night. I got way too wasted way too easily (two beers, two shots, but I hadn't eaten in like two days; I don't know how drunk he was. He usually handles his alcohol well but at one point he did say "famn damily") and basically entered into an argument with MC trying to tell him he needs to get ahold of his drinking problem, and him telling me he can self medicate how he wants and there is no reason for me to care about it. I thought today would be awkward and we would have to address it, but nope. We've gotten along swimmingly, and he shaved his beard in a bizarre pattern for laughs, so that's been a big deflector. It wasn't my proudest moment arguing with him last night, but I don't regret trying.  And no matter what, I am no longer confused on this issue. I know my job is toxic and I'm committed to getting out. I like MC, there's no getting around it, but he's married, a drunk, and uninterested in me. We have fun sparring but it means nothing. Maybe in another life it could have been something. I can let that go. I still love him, I still care about him and really wish that he could be happy, but it's not an "in love"/infatuation thing anymore. There were some really interesting tidbits in it, though. I started out just wanting to warn him about the job: Me: "You really need to leave this job." MC: "Thank you for the advice." Me: "I'm serious. They're not going to promote you, you're not going to get more money. They're just going to take advantage of you." MC: "I'm not interested in office gossip." Me: "It isn't! It's truth! And you're going to suffer for it!" MC: "No I'm not. I'm not like you, I don't let work stress me out. I do my time and then go home." Me: "Where you drown your stress in a bottle." So that sort of started it off. Because he has been more stressed out lately, and he has been coming in hung over more often. Today I discovered he had made a huge mailing error, and we traced it back to last Monday--a day when he was really, really hungover. We basically went round and round on this point: MC: "I like to drink! There's nothing wrong with it! People have been doing it for thousands of years." Me: "You are pickling your beautiful brain." MC: "So? That's my choice. That's how I cope." Me: "Try therapy. Try antidepressants. I'm not saying it's easy--" MC: "Alcohol makes me happy. I deserve to be happy, right? If that's how I want to get through life, drinking, then that's my choice." Me: "But you're destroying your body and your mind." MC: "Genetics dictates when you die." Me: "Behavior dictates quality of life." At some point I realized I had my hands on the table, and he had reached over and covered my hands, which was weird. We did that for a while.  Mostly we argued about whether it's OK to self medicate, and how everyone self medicates somehow. Which, I get. We're all fighting some sort of shit. And we all self medicate somehow. Drugs and alcohol, sex, food, TV, work, cigarettes, whatever. Everyone tries to handle their shit differently. But certainly some ways, like medication and therapy, are definitely less destructive than others. But he didn't seem to care. Me: "It's just a shame, is all I'm saying. Drinking too much. Destroying your brain." MC: "Why do you care? It isn't any of your business." Me: "I care! I'm your friend! I like you! And you and I are similar, and I want you to be happy." MC: "I am!" (drinks) Me: "No, no, that isn't real happiness, you know it's not." MC: "It numbs everything. You don't know anything about my demons." Me: "Jesus, what are we, 15? Demons my ass. We all have to deal with depression." MC: "And I deal with it this way." At some point he brought up his wife, and to my surprise he called her a bitch! He was saying something about how she said he was starting to get fat, so while she was overseas, he started jogging every day and watching his food to lose weight (and he has, boy looks damn good). Then when she came back she told him he was too skinny. "What does she want from me?" he asked. "Why does she have to be such a bitch? Jesus! Can't make anyone happy. 'You smoke too much, you're getting fat', like what do you want from me?" And on the subject of his wife: Me: "You really should work on it. I'm just saying. You're destroying your mind." MC: "I like to drink. Nothing wrong with that. My wife likes to drink." Me: "Yeah, you ran off to China and got lucky, marrying a Russian where vodka comes out of the taps, you know she's enabling you." MC: "Yes! Exactly! I don't have to hear shit about it from her!" Me: "It's for your health. For your brain. It's a fantastic mind, I like it, so don't destroy it with booze." MC: "I use it to be happy. Life is short. Be happy, right?" Me: "Is this really happiness?' MC: "Yes!" Me: "Because when you're hungover and you feel like shit, is that happy?" MC: "It's easily fixed. I'm terrible when I'm sober. I'm mean and snippy. This helps." Me: "Who told you you were mean and snippy? Why would someone say that to you?" MC: "I am. So this is what I use. And pot. Nothing wrong with it." Another alarming comment was about a kid. I know he had been talking about having kids, looking forward to it, but I just assumed it was some baby-glow from our coworker who recently became a father. But he seemed to think that a child would solve everything: Me: "What would make you get sober? If not for yourself or your wife?" MC: "A kid!" Me: "No! That's a terrible idea! You can't project that on an innocent life! Why would you do that to your poor wife? A kid isn't going to magically make you sober. You have to make you sober. You can only change when you are ready." MC: "There's no reason to change." Me: "Have you had a DUI?" MC: "No." Me: "You come in to work hung over." MC: "It isn't your business! Why care? Why do you care about this?" Me: "I like you! You're my friend! We are very alike!" MC: "Yes, and you use therapy, and I drink. Six of one, half a dozen of the other." Me: "I want you to be happy. I want you to see you have value and self worth and you don't need to kill yourself with alcohol." MC: "I'm not. I'm very happy. Drinking makes me a better person." Ultimately, it was just...sad. I think I felt some instincts to want to "save" him, to rescue him from himself. Addiction is an illness, and I get that. Depression is an illness too, and it's one I have to fight every day. I also struggle with food and my weight; I'm pretty sure at one point I talked to him about that, that I had lost a bunch of weight, but relapsed and gained some back, but I wanted to be healthy again. I know he has body issues too--I mean, who doesn't--and so what his wife said about his weight must have been quite wounding. He isn't fat at all. But you can't make an addict change. I know. They have to want to change. I don't know if he'll ever hit his rock bottom, but I don't want him to. But I also wish he would get help. And yeah, I'm aware I literally have no dog in this fight. There is literally nothing outside our work relationship. It doesn't concern me at all. (Unless you consider mistakes he makes here at the office being drunk/hungover. I didn't directly call him on the box he fucked up, but I was pretty pointed about it.) But still. My soul responded to his, even if his didn't respond to mine. I don't ever feel that, for anyone. So I care.  It ended with a pretty sad whimper, with both of us deciding we really had to pee, and then we never resumed the conversation. The party was breaking up despite the hour (falling down drunk at 7 pm, a low for me) so we walked back to the office.  I had called an Uber but could not for the life of me identify it, and apparently I was still outside when he reemerged from getting his things in the office, and he helped me figure out which car was mine. I went home to bed (I don't think I fed the cats) and slept horribly. Today I'm not hung over, but I am very, very tired, and am going to skip the pot and go to bed early, and at least try to sleep.