This Is Mickey. He Was Thin When We First Got Him. I Was Struggling With The Weight Gain So I Thought

This is Mickey. He was thin when we first got him. I was struggling with the weight gain so I thought it was good you could feel his bones. I fed him exactly as I learned and now you can't feel his spine when you lift him.

I guess it helped come to terms with my own lack of visible bones.

I cannot overstate the impact having good people around you can have. I got the bottom of my eating disorder and I fully believe I would have been bedridden for a lot longer if not for my fiance. He was ready the second I was discharged with the meal plan from my dietian. He put his own damn weight loss on the back burner for months both before and after my starting recovery just to make sure I was eating.

And you know what? It worked. For a very long time the sole reason I pushed through for recovery was for him. Finally I found my own reasons. I'm not tempted to go back anymore.

Tumblr was a source of fuel for my anorexia. It's easy to compare and put myself down. Coming back now that I feel more firm in my recovery, well I think it might have been a mistake.

I want to go back to the tags that hurt me back when I suffered. I want to go and see the spo that lies there. I want to get triggered again. And I am. I've been going to these tags and I can feel the rock solid control I had start to slip.

The worst part is that I know those people don't mean any harm. I was there. I only wanted to find a home in a world that denied me one.

I'm back now and I refuse to go back to those tags. I want to help people now, not harm them.

I am trans and anorexic and those two entities play on each other so well. I'm half convinced my hatred of my own body is what drove me to starve in the first place.

There are 2 very distinct feelings for "I hate my chest for being feminine" and "I hate my chest for being two literal lumps of fat". And they can happen at the same time.

A fun thing about being both trans and on the autism spectrum is that sometimes I can't tell WHY I have discomfort with my body, because it could easily be either or even both.

Like, my legs. Do I dislike having hairy legs because it's a masculine-coded thing, and it's giving me gender dysphoria? Or is it a texture thing, and I just hate the feeling of skin touching skin, which is 10 times worse when it's hairy skin?

(I'm pretty sure the answer is "both")

It's crazy how my perspective has changed. I stopped caring what my body looks like.

I'm elated that I can benchpress 4 kg when 6 months ago I couldn't lift the bar.

I'm amazed I can squat 10 kg because 9 months ago I could barely stand.

I can watch myself in the glass door and critique my form instead of my rolls.

I don't even flinch to add more to a meal.

I don't give a singular fuck what my body looks like. I want strength. I want power. I want the shaking on the last rep. I want the pain of pushing my body. I want to see what my body can do.