It yells at me for letting myself get fat, it reminds me that if I hadn’t gained all this weight they wouldn’t have enough volume to flop in the first place. It’s not my fault, I shouldn’t blame myself. But I know, I know mine don’t have the elasticity they should. So frustrated that other people my age have got boobs they can plonk into crop tops or baggy tees without bras and not really have to worry. ![]() It’s more than not finding them visually satisfactory (which is a worry whilst still trying to find a mate!) it’s the annoyance at other people’s bouncy boobs. Yet I don’t, I’m trying, trying to sway myself into “we love our boobs” camp. I know that apart from allowing someone to cut into my body (which is so not happening, I definitely could not deal with giving someone else that amount of control over my body especially whilst I’m out for the count and paying for the pleasure!!) there really isn’t much to do apart from learn to love them. I mean the arbitrary, objective knowledge that they are droopier than they would be - had I not had an eating disorder. Now when I say droopy I don’t mean swinging by my belly button or I’m concerned by now having boobs as such. One of these things which really gets to me is my droopy boobs. But beyond the body dysmorphia and anorexic thoughts, dealing with physical changes of ones body (with or without an eating disorder) - going through the down, the up, the down, the up, can be really strange. ![]() There are things everyone is not okay with about their bodies. So, there are things I’m not okay with about my body.
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