My mother technically died of anorexia. She was 65. My ex uses laxative to flush out a big meal. He's a bulemic. And if you have ever been stuck in a gym beside one of these turkeys, you will know just how annoying it can be.
I am an alcoholic and a drug addict. Forget that I am more than 2 decades clean. It was just obvious to me that my lifestyle was creating problems for me. So I did something about it. There's more to it, but who cares? Percieve, acknowledge, take action, reinforce.
I don't know much about anorexia and bulemia, but I do know that they thrive on attention. I do know that they are as self-obsessed as a bodybuilder, and that the rest of the world is positively porcine. They are the glamour queens of mental illness, and they never seem to shy away from a camera or an interview.
"Poor Rachel/Lisa/Donna/Ashley/Bob." They are to be pitied and treated like babies that refuse to swallow in expensive clinics with names that sound like a Stevie Nicks song. I'd slap them if I thought it would do any good.
Anorexics and bulemics think of themselves. You will never see them actively volunteering to help stem a flood, raising a child, or donating blood. Never mind starting an email campaign for the victims of Darfur. Marilyn Monroe didn't, so why should they?
No, I don't have mother issues, at least around this. I just get tired of a 5 ft. nail screaming at herself in a gym while I try to repress the need to vomit.
And I am concerned that any female with a BMI of 18.5 or less sullies this blog with their own highly toxic and egocentric view of what we are trying to do here. We are healthy people who are losing excess fat for our health.
Please take your horrific distortions to a therapist. If that is not apparent, kindly FUCK OFF.
I trust I have made myself clear, and if you can't handle the heat, get out of the kitchen.
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