This, unfortunately, is pretty much my life most of the time.
At least I have gotten to a point where I recognize it, and understand how destructive this thought pattern is.
There is so much cognitive dissonance in my attitude towards myself and my body. Intellectually I know that I am not only attractive, but also on the thin side, if not downright skinny. Sure, I am more of an hourglass than a stick, but I am more of an elongated egg-timer hourglass than the squat witch’s hourglass from The Wizard of Oz.
I understand these things, and I understand that starvation-induced bones are not as beautiful as the lush curves of the women whose bodies I admire, and aspire to resemble. I want to look more like Rita Hayworth, Christina Hendricks, or Marilyn Monroe than Kate Moss or Gemma Ward, and yet when I begin to approximate their shapes, I look in the mirror, and all I see is fat, fat, fat.
I see rolls where there are the shapes of bones, and bulges where there is just a flat expanse of skin. I do not want to see this. I want to see reality, but for some reason I cannot.
Maybe one day.
(Source: o-cean-sprayy, via xanthoma)