..just how troubled he made me for telling my recovered anorexic ass “you could stand to lose 15 pounds.” After repeated comments along those lines, I’d somehow stuck around and said fine, maybe I am fat and need to start ‘fasting’ again—i.e., back to not eating for five days at a time.

He said, “Yeah, you just have to starve yourself for five days and you’ll be golden.” When I said I just didn’t want to fall down the hole again and showed him a pic from not far from my lowest weight, he said I looked great there and that I should try to get back to 105 lbs. “You look hot either way but I prefer you smaller 😘” he replied.

Well the past month I started never eating again, those comments echoing in my head. I can’t shut them out anymore and I feel like an absolute whale. I’ve even gotten diet pills to make the starvation that much more effective and painful.

When he was confused about why I’ve been so depressed and don’t want to talk to him and got angry when I didn’t respond to his messages for days on end, I snapped. I told him I can’t look at myself in the mirror without wanting to break down, and I usually tear up and just run away. He said he was “sorry he hurt me” but apparently I’m “rude, self-centered, and disrespectful.” Also, “Clearly this isn’t going to work out because I don’t work that way and ultimately you just don’t care about me.”

I feel like I’ve just woken up from an eerily familiar dream. After all, I just keep going back to men like this. My dad already set me down the wrong path with lots of comments about my weight. I was underweight as a teenager and much of my adulthood, so I think people don’t know how to handle me at a healthy weight. However, I’m straight up an average weight now, so I don’t know why men—who have bellies themselves—think they can tell me how they think I should look.

Fuck that guy. And fuck men in general for the most part. I just wish I could stop caring like I did until this PRICK came along and ruined whatever happiness, healthiness, and sanity I had managed to regain upon living alone. I wish I could erase all that from my head and get back to where I was three months ago, but I just can’t. It’s simply become my obsession, a nightmare returning three years later, and I’m slipping hardcore…