C is for Categories

There are so many ideas I had for this post (maybe when the alphabet gets tricky I will revisit C…) 

I chose to talk about categories because I had an experience in a shop today which made it relevant. There was a discussion between other shoppers about clothes sizing, and how each shop is different, a size whatever is “too large”, so and so is losing weight… The usual chatter. I just suddenly realised how life is always about being in a category. What social class are you? What body shape are you? What hair colour do you have? Are you quiet or loud? Anxious or mellow? Caucasian or black? The list is literally endless.

Throughout my life I have been influenced by people who make decisions unaffected by the trends. I like my clothes to be my style, not necessarily in mainstream fashion; I like being introverted and spending a night alone over a big party; I like to say the sarcastic nonsense that perhaps other people wouldn’t say aloud. Basically I always want to be individual.

But then my eating disorder came into the mix. Unlike other aspects of my life, I have obsessions with conforming totally to my disorder’s stereotypes. It has become very important to me to “look the part.” 

To fit into the categories of mental illnesses validates my experiences. 

I’m lucky to have people that love me for my individuality, and have patience with my obsessions. 

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B is for Bottled Up

So I had a really calm, pleasant morning walking on the beach. (I’m so jealous my family live so close to such a gorgeous sea front!)

My mum insisted on taking photos. I find photos quite triggering because I am always of afraid of how I look. I have bottled up my feelings about things like this many times, and today the bottle burst. It ended up upsetting everyone, but atleast I’m not varying those feelings by myself now. I know their upset is just because they care, but if I don’t look ill then I’m not in my eyes. It’s so hard to accept.