#past eating disorders

[nervousloveheart]

When your anxiety, social anxiety, depression, adhd, autism, past eating disorders, lack of sleep, INFJ straits, and forgetfulness towards taking medication come together and you're just like:

[kimetsu-chan]

Doing this bc I’m scared to and won’t on my own

if this gets 5k notes by October 20th, I will tell my dad about my eating disorder and get help to recover + therapist

Rules:

No spamming

5 notes per person including likes

if either one of those is broken, I’m reducing the time limit, basically making it less likely to hit the goal on time

FOR CRYING OUT LOUD PLEASE STOP SPAMMING

tagging is okay

Might delete later(sorry!) because I’m scarrredddd, I don’t wanna tell my dad >:l

[desultory-suggestions]

It's okay to be scraping by. Even if you would rather be doing better, even if you technically could be doing better. Sometimes the weight of things just pushes us down. Keep moving forward, even if is slow. In time you will be back where you want to be.

[piratefishmama]

Finders Givers | Part 1

“—But maybe someday when my ship comes iiiin~ She’ll understand what kinda guy I’ve been, an then I’ll win”

“Chrriiiisss!!” Eddie whined as he tossed himself onto his front, burrowing his head under the pillow

“And when she’s waaalkin, she’s loookin, so FI-I-IIIINE!!”

“CHRIS!!” It was no use, she couldn’t hear him. Too busy belting out Billy Joel in their little kitchenette at… he shoved his pillow aside, realising it was a fruitless endeavour to try and block out the dying cat that was his roommate.

They’d gotten in at just gone two in the morning after blowing the very last of their ‘rainy day’ fund on ten for two dollar shots at a local student haunt, and now it was… ten in the morning, they didn’t have jobs left to get ready for, he still hadn't been able to find his wallet anywhere.

And Chrissy was. Singing.

As if they didn’t have to start job hunting again or risk the fury that was their greasy landlord and his mission to extort them of all their hard earned money. They’d be out on their asses by months end if they didn’t find something soon and the band wasn’t raking in as much cash as he’d have liked for it to be raking in.

Last he heard some big shot was looking to buy the Hideout too, probably shut them down for good. That’d be just their luck.

“An when she’s TAAALKIN she’ll say that she’s MI-I-IIINEE!” He threw his covers off, accepting defeat. At least it smelled like eggs and bacon, so she was clearly cooking the last of their breakfast foods.

Chrissy was of course in her sleep shirt, legs bare, with naught but slipper socks to keep her toes cosy on the tile floors of their kitchenette, swaying to the vinyl player belting out Billy Joel by the open window. Many a man’s fantasy come true, Chrissy was a vision while lost in her favourite music, but to him, Eddie Munson resident flaming homosexual, okay she was still beautiful he had eyes, but those leggy legs and swaying hips didn’t do it for him, thanks. “CHRISS!!”

And she jumped, barely managing to save the bacon from winding up as a sacrifice to the dastardly floor gods. Whipping around to face him, she graced him with the signature Chrissy ‘sunshine smile’ which… didn’t track for the killer hangover she ought to have had given she had three rounds of those shots all in that tiny-ass body of hers.

“Eddieee!!”

“Chrisssyyyy, what’cha doin, Chriss?”

“Breakfast! And Billy Joel!”

“I see that, at… ten in the morning, after student night!” They weren’t students, Chriss could pass for one though “Whaaat’s going on?”

“Letter! The letter, on the top there, read it!” And she was turning her back again hips swaying, moving the foods over to two plates, the only two they currently had clean, oof, it was his turn on dishes, damn what he wouldn’t give for a dishwasher.

Curiosity piqued, he crossed the short distance (it wasn’t a large apartment) and plucked up the neatly tri-folded piece of paper, letterheaded with a real fancy SH logo, a business address and corporate phone number, the letter reading,

“Dear Tenant” he didn’t do inner voices, he had to read it out loud “This is to inform you that as of the week commencing June 12th the building will be under… under new… new ownership?!” He looked up, eyes wide with alarm.

“Keep reading!!” She prompted as if predicting his alarm, she wasn’t even looking at him, clearly jazzed about something, new ownership? The building had been sold from under them and she was happy? He looked back at the paper.

“At this time, we will be… suspending… suspending?” She nodded, turning with two plates in her hand to their tiny little table that Wayne had donated when they moved in “suspending your required rent payments as we… look toward renovating the building and all apartments within.”

“Keep reading, there’s more!” He sat down at his usual chair, paper held in both hands, eyes fixed to the print as he read.

“Any rent arrears accrued in the duration of the building renovations will be… hold up—”

“Yep.”

“You’re joking.”

“Nope, not joking, it’s official I called them this morning, took me ages to get through to someone but it’s legit, Eddie.”

“But—but shit like this—this doesn’t happen Chriss, and you know what the Police said that one time you got scammed, right? If it seems too good—” he was still looking at that word, that one little word that made all the difference.

“Then it’s probably too good to be true! I know, I know, but I got the confirmation from their office, I GOOGLED the number too, I didn’t just call the one on the letter cause I know scams can get’cha that way.” Although what kind of scam it could be was baffling as it wasn’t asking for money it was saying they wouldn’t be asking for money for a while “sobered my ass right up let me tell you, best hangover cure in the world, and Mrs Jablonski next door got one too! And Dottie across the hall, I’m pretty sure I heard upstairs yelling earlier, an I mean like happy yelling, not yelling yelling like usual. Cheering! I think it’s legit, Eddie…”

“So… we just… we don’t have to pay rent, at all… for however the fuck long these renovations take to happen? Do we have an expected completion date to these renovations? Or start date?”

“Nope, just a from week commencing, the lady on the phone had no idea about them but she got the confirmation from ‘upstairs’ and just said there’d be more information sent to us eventually and not to worry about it.”

“Not to worry—not to worry about it?” He wanted to worry about it, every fibre of his being demanded he worry about it. Not that they could even pay rent if it was asked for, they had no money and no jobs after he’d decked their line manager for calling Chrissy fat, she was not fat, and she’d only just stopped staring at herself in the mirror as if every inch of her was wrong. She’d passed the month mark since she‘d last forced herself to throw up. She was finally getting some plump back into her cheeks.

She was on the mend. She was recovering. And he’d just—Eddie had seen red. He just wished he’d have been wearing his rings at the time.

“You can call them if you want!” She spoke around a mouthful of sunny side up eggs. “I think whatever it was, was a really random decision high up, like… it wasn’t something decided upon by a board of directors or anything because she took a while to get confirmation about it, but—but I dunno Eddie, maybe… maybe things can be good for a while.” They wouldn’t have to panic about getting jobs.

Wouldn’t have to deal with grease trap Carl the guy who collected their rent every month who seemed to just… always be greasy. Hands, hair, face, clothes. Who’d look at Chrissy like she was a piece of meat, or make disgusting comments about how lucky Eddie was to live with her, while she was stood right there holding Eddie’s arm back stopping him from launching at the guy.

Wayne had offered to run the guy over one time “Would be a one an done, son, would catch him at just the right time as he left the place an be gone just as fast, wouldn’t even know I was there.” Like a grade A parent, with all the gold stars available at the local craft store. But Eddie could deal with Carl.

They wouldn’t have to anymore though. If this was legit, it meant Carl was gone. No more Carl.

“…Screw calling them, I think we should go down there and see what’s up.”

“M’kay, but eat your damn breakfast that’s the last of the maple bacon an you got the bigger piece.” If he immediately traded the bigger piece on his plate for the smaller one on hers, well… she only smiled over it, she liked the maple kind more than him anyway.

Or so he'd told her.

Part 3

[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

[diimpledoll]

I felt hot for my allotted two minutes out of the year this day 🥲

[bloody-bee-tea]

June of (minimal) Doom 2024 Day 20 - I can handle it

Warnings in case you haven't read the tags: self-harm, scars, eating disorders

Suguru is usually better at hand-to-hand combat than this but then again, he’s not normally up against a curse that charges right in and changes its form seemingly with every heartbeat.

The knives instead of limbs certainly come as a surprise, Suguru is not going to lie about that, and it explains his inability to evade the attack. The curse leaves a deep gash on his arm–thankfully not anything worse–right before Satoru swoops in to obliterate it into its next life.

Suguru lets out a deep sigh, because it was just a touch too late for Satoru to prevent Suguru from getting hurt and he knows that Satoru is going to whine his ear off about it. It’s done out of worry, Suguru knows that, but it’s still hard to take sometimes and he’s not looking forward to it. 

Especially since they are stuck in this village with no way out for another day.

“Great work,” Suguru says, once he’s certain the curse is gone for good and that no other ones are lingering around and quickly angles his body in a way that hides his arm when Satoru’s eyes fall on the deep gash there, an incredulous look on his face.

“Great work? You got slashed all open because I was too slow!”

“It’s nothing,” Suguru says, willing his blood to stop dripping down his arm, but of course he doesn’t have that kind of control over his body.

“Suguru, you’re bleeding like crazy! We need to get this bandaged as soon as possible,” Satoru rushes out and Suguru does not expect him to reach for his injured arm, so he’s slow to react.

By the time he snatches his arm back, Satoru’s fingers have already pushed his sleeve up in an attempt to see the wound better and Suguru knows it’s too late.

Satoru has seen the raised imperfections that mar his skin and his fingertips have glided over every bump on his forearm.

“I can handle it,” Suguru presses out, keeping his sleeve safely over his arm, even though it hurts the wound more. “There’s no need for you to bother.”

He hopes that his voice is cold enough to shut Satoru down, but it’s always a gamble with him. Satoru can be incredibly perceptive but it’s a skill he switches on and off and even if he has it on, there’s still a fifty-fifty chance he’ll just ignore it.

Suguru does not expect to get lucky, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to invite conversation about this. He never wanted Satoru to know about this in the first place and that hasn’t changed.

If he doesn’t explain, if he doesn’t acknowledge the existence of the scars, maybe Satoru will drop it.

“Let’s just get back to the hotel,” Satoru says, his voice subdued and he doesn’t reach for Suguru again and he doesn’t comment on what he must have seen at all.

Suguru doesn’t trust it yet. Satoru has the uncanny ability to hit him with unsettling stuff at the most unexpected times and while Suguru learned to anticipate it to the best of his ability, he is under no illusion that Satoru does it on purpose.

It’s a good way to catch him off guard after all and it ensured that Satoru got his way on more than one occasion.

Still, Suguru nods, because what else is there to do? At least the first aid kit they are always required to bring to overnight missions is in his room.

Satoru doesn’t speak on the entire way back to the hotel but Suguru knows that’s going to change once they reach his room and instead of going on to his own like Suguru hoped he would, Satoru pushes into the room behind him, not giving him a chance to deny him entry.

“Satoru,” Suguru warningly says but Satoru doesn’t seem phased by it.

“I already saw it, so what’s hiding going to do now?” he snaps out. “Wrapping injuries on your own arm is difficult as hell, so just let me do it. It doesn’t matter anymore, does it?”

It matters very much, if Suguru is honest, but he doesn’t have a good comeback for Satoru, because he’s not wrong. He did already see the scars so in all honesty there shouldn’t be a reason for Suguru to hide them anymore and the cut on his arm is deep enough to need real treatment, not whatever botched up job Suguru will be able to do with just one hand.

Still, it rankles, that Satoru is right.

“Fine,” he eventually bites out and stalks off to the bathroom, trusting Satoru to follow him. Suguru sits down on the toilet, not bothering to get the first aid kit, because if Satoru insists on treating him, then he’ll better do it properly.

Satoru follows him shortly after, the kit in his hands and he kneels down at Suguru’s feet.

“Can you–” he gestures at Suguru’s arm and Suguru huffs out a breath.

“The uniform is a lost cause anyway, just cut it off,” he mutters, because there’s no reason for him to awkwardly wriggle out of his uniform and possibly aggravate the injury further.

“Okay,” Satoru softly says and gets out the scissors before making short process of Suguru’s sleeve.

Suguru knows what his arm looks like, obviously, but it’s still hard to see. Especially with Satoru’s eyes fixed on there as well now, scars in full view, even though he makes an effort to concentrate on the still bleeding wound.

Suguru didn’t want him to know–ever–but of course with a job like theirs it would come out eventually. Suguru is probably lucky he managed to hide it for as long as he did. But now that Satoru knows he’s sure to have some thoughts about it and tact is really not one of Satoru’s strong suits. 

Suguru can just hope that Satoru is not going to judge him for it, or worse–look at him with pity now.

“Suguru,” Satoru starts just then, his voice barely more than a soft breath in the otherwise quiet room and Suguru is immediately done with this.

“Shut it,” he snaps at him. “I don’t want to hear it.”

Satoru shuts his mouth so fast his teeth clack together but of course Suguru’s outburst is not enough to keep him quiet for long.

Suguru sees him open his mouth again but before he can tell him again to stop talking Satoru blurts out “I have an eating disorder.”

Now that is one effective way to shut Suguru up, he faintly thinks, and he can’t help but to stare at Satoru, who has his eyes still fixed on Suguru’s arm as he cleans the cut. Suguru doesn’t even notice it sting when he wipes the wound.

“I get why you’re this defensive right now because you clearly didn’t want to share this and I never wanted you to find out, either, so I just–a secret for a secret, alright?”

It’s a stupid offer, so it’s exactly something Satoru would do and still, Suguru can do nothing but stare at him.

“Are you—going to ask?” Satoru eventually wants to know as he wraps Suguru’s arm up.

“You have an eating disorder,” Suguru repeats as if that would make it make more sense and his confusion only grows when Satoru nods.

“I do.”

“But you eat enough!”

“It’s not that kind of disorder because when has anything with me and my stupid family been easy,” Satoru says with a scoff and Suguru just doesn’t understand.

His cutting at least makes sense if you look at his history but this? He can’t wrap his head around this at all.

“It’s a learned binge eating disorder,” Satoru says and it sounds as if he’s reciting it from somewhere.

“Learned how?” Suguru finds himself asking even as he curls his arm protectively closer to his body, subconsciously still trying to stop Satoru from seeing the scars on there.

“Or a forced one? I can never quite get it right, but my therapist keeps saying it’s not my fault,” Satoru mutters. “Fact is, my family’s to thank for that.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not enough for them that I have both of the techniques. They also want me to be—breedable, I guess, was the term my father used. Only one person can have the Six Eyes at any given time, but my father thinks if I just impregnate enough women one of them will be pregnant by the time I die and then there’s a chance the baby inherits them. And since my ‘personality is lacking’ I have to at least be hot. His words, not mine,” Satoru says with a forced little smile and Suguru doesn’t even know where to start with all of this.

Maybe it’s a good thing he’s sitting down, because things are spinning in his head.

“So I wasn’t allowed to eat anything sweet. They put me on a pretty strict diet. But since I’m me and I fucking love sugar, I ate everything I could get my hands on in one sitting. I’d just stuff my face until I felt sick. Sometimes they found out and they made me throw it all back up again but—yeah,” Satoru trails off as his eyes go unfocused. “I still don’t know how to really responsibly eat sweets. If I have the chance I just—down it all in one go.”

“But that’s not true,” Suguru says with a frown. “I’ve seen you eat. It’s not like that. If we go out you have one crepe or waffle, one piece of everything. I’ve never seen you do what you just said.”

“That’s because I have you,” Satoru admits softly. “I know it’s not fair and I should probably have told you about this sooner, but I put you in charge of my sweet consumption.”

“Huh?”

“I know you never thought twice about it, but did you never wonder why I always hand you all my sweets?”

“It’s because my pockets are bigger,” Suguru immediately blurts out because that is always the excuse Satoru gives him when he shoves another bag of candies at him.

“Yeah, I say that—and it’s not even really a lie—but I do it because you make sure to only give me one piece at a time. I know you realised that I wolf down my food whenever we are out, especially sweet things, because you always comment on it, but if it were up to me I’d get up and order again and again and again. You never let me, though.”

“It sounds as if I’m starving you,” Suguru mutters, still trying to wrap his head around all of this.

“No, Suguru,” Satoru says and leans forward until he can take Suguru’s hand in his. “You make sure I get exactly enough food. I’m not good at doing that myself. I’m getting better at it because I keep hearing you in my mind when I’m about to overdo it and you’re not physically there but it’s not easy for me. You help though.”

“I—didn’t know,” Suguru gets out at that and Satoru gives him a bashful look.

“I didn’t want you to,” he admits and his eyes fall on Suguru’s arm again.

Suguru grits his teeth because it feels almost like a physical touch, having Satoru’s eyes fixed on his scars but Satoru doesn’t reach out and Suguru doesn’t move.

“When I saw them, I figured you’d think I would pity you, or think less of you. It’s a very you thing to do, you know,” Satoru softly says and squeezes Suguru’s hand. “But there’s no need for that. And besides. You seem to have things under control all by your own. They all look healed up already. So if you want some pity in the mix, you can pity me ‘cause I’m not able to keep myself in check unlike you,” Satoru says as if it doesn’t cost him anything to say that, but Suguru knows him better than that.

He sees the strain around his eyes, the downturn of his mouth, feels the almost imperceptible shake of his hand.

Suguru knows that Satoru is worried out of his mind.

“I’m not, though,” Suguru admits and he finally relaxes his still half-uncovered arm. “It’s like—you know how recovering alcoholics usually can’t be around alcohol at all cause the urge is always there?” Suguru wants to know and Satoru nods, a small frown on his face. “It’s like that. It’s been years since I last cut but the thought is always right there,” he chokes out, but it’s not as terrifying to admit as he thought it would be.

Not with what Satoru already shared.

“Some days I get really fucking close.”

Suguru has never admitted that to anyone before and Satoru hums in response.

“How do you manage to not do it?” he quietly asks, sliding the fingers of his free hand over the raised scars on Suguru’s forearm.

Suguru twitches, his instinct yelling at him to pull his arm away but he takes a deep breath. It’s Satoru. It’s okay if it’s Satoru, he has to believe that.

“I—” Suguru’s voice breaks before he can even finish the first goddamn word, but he forces himself to go on, feeling strangely empowered by Satoru’s gaze on him. “I think about how worried you’d be if you ever found out and saw new cuts,” he confesses and Satoru stills at hearing that.

“Well, you’d be right.” Satoru looks up to give him a small smile. “I’d be worried out of my mind if that happened.”

“Yeah, so I—don’t,” Suguru finishes lamely and Satoru huffs out a wet laugh.

“We really are a pair, huh? I have you keep me in check for my eating disorder and you use my worrying as an incentive not to cut.”

“Whatever works, right?” Suguru gives back, reaching out to push Satoru’s hair out of his face, allowing Satoru to slide his fingers over the whole expanse of his scars in the process.

“Whatever works,” Satoru agrees, his eyes going soft and gentle. “I’m glad I can be of help.”

“Me, too,” Suguru replies, his eyes burning with tears at the understanding he finds in Satoru’s.

He really should have known that Satoru’s reaction would be nothing like he expected, because he always manages to surprise him but even he couldn’t have predicted this.

“I think we’re about ready to turn in now, aren’t we?” Satoru finally breaks the weird moment between them and Suguru instinctively tightens his hand on Satoru’s.

“I don’t think I want to be alone tonight,” Suguru admits, because what is one more truth today and Satoru gives him a dazzling smile in return.

“Great, because I wasn’t keen on leaving.”

It makes the last splinter of worry come lose in Suguru’s chest. It’s not going to be the first night they spend together, but he guesses today it’s going to feel different.

It will still be good though, because with Satoru, it always is.

[arrowheadedbitch]

I feel like if I don't give enough blorbos eating disorders I will immediately develop one. I have a quota.

[oreoambitions]

People on the internet: you should just listen to your body and eat when you're hungry :) My body: My body: My body: Me: why do I feel so weak and irritable

[thornsnvultures]

eddie munson x plus size!reader

a little drabble about going on a road trip with eddie, steve & robin based on this ask i got yesterday

cw: past body image issues, implied past eating disorder

-----

"Please don't eat that," Steve blanches at the hot dog in your hands. "Those things are terrible for you."

"Don't judge my choice of food. This road trip just started and I didn't have breakfast," you huff and roll your eyes.

"I'm just looking out for you," Steve holds his hands up, backing out of your way so you can grab napkins and a few ketchup packets.

"I'll be fine, Steven. I've had worse things in my mouth."

Steve snorts out a laugh and crosses his arms. "Yeah, you've been with Munson for, what, a year now?"

"Rude," Eddie gasps, dramatically raising the heart shaped sunglasses he's wearing to the top of his head. He's loaded up with chips in one arm and a liter of soda in the other.

"Hey, babe. Any of that for me?"

"You can have whatever you like, sweetheart," Eddie says with a wink. He pushes around Steve to press a kiss to your cheek, making his way to the register.

"I'm just saying," Steve presses, following you following Eddie, "you don't know what kinda mystery meat is in that thing. Or how long it was on that roller for."

"Well good news for you, Steve," you smile at him, handing the dog to the cashier to get rung up. "You don't have to eat it."

Steve throws up his arms and walks out. He heads to where Robin's waiting for the three of you in the van, already done filling the tank.

"Don't let him bother you, baby," Eddie wraps his arm around you as you walk out together. His big bag of snacks and drinks are slung over his shoulder. Steve didn't bother you, and you tell Eddie as much.

"He's just looking out for me. He can't help it."

The sun is really beating down today, you can't wait to get back on the road with the windows down.

"I don't like him shaming you for what you eat," he whispers, the usual lightness in his voice replaced with concern. You feel Eddie bristle like a cat puffing his fur out. The posturing is cute but unnecessary.

"I'm fine, Eddie. And I appreciate you wanting to defend my honor, good sir," you smile and kiss his cheek and his hackles lower.

Eddie bows as he opens the van door for you and you laugh. He helps you climb in and kisses your hand before he lets you go.

"Get a move on, nerds!" Robin calls from the backseat. Eddie hands you the snacks and jogs around to the other side of the van.

You might've let Steve's comment bother you before, let his worry settle in your mind like an insult to your weight, your appetite. But you know better, you know Steve's worried about your health and keeling over from a tainted dog. He's not your mother, worrying over calories. He's your friend and a damn good one.

You pull out your hot dog and eat, finally, after a morning of packing and stressing that you'd forget something. Eddie smiles at you from the driver's seat, cranking up the tunes. Steve and Robin argue in the back but the open windows muffle them slightly and you settle. You're with friends, you're going to have a good summer, and you're not going to let anything stop you.

[lokilysolbitch]

i slap a pretty outfit on and it recontextualizes my autism as cool and mysterious and whimsical like an uncanny forest creature. but don't be fooled. if my retainer doesn't fit right in my mouth i start self destructing for four hours

[sergle]

Isn't the joke the people who brag about "only eating iced coffee today"? Like the people weirdly flexing like some Gen X almond mom like we should praise them?

It is literally categorically About That, yes

[desultory-suggestions]

You will never have it all figured out. That can be an uncomfortable truth to accept, but remember that the goal is not to be prepared for everything. It is simply to be capable of responding healthily to the unexpected.

[justasillylad]

fuuuck me we’re having a class on like nutrition facts and calories in bio rn

get me out of here

[neurotypical-sonic]

amy 🤝 tails

disordered eating

[mariemariemaria]

Does anybody else feel like mental health awareness has done very little to help them in material reality