sofasapple

[sofasapple]

But anyways, that’s enough for now, I have nothing else to add, much so I’ll get on with this maybe in two days since I have a big test coming up. But if one day I stop posting there could’potentionallu be two reasons:

1: Im being hospitalized -> leads to self conscious suicide, not from depression but from self disgust.

2: i forgor about this app

[sofasapple]

But what I’ve noticed, most people who always have an issue with me, lowkey, not even only my opinion, usually look uglier than me, as in physically and in the face. So it somewhat explains why they act this way, self hatred is a thing, but I don’t judge you. Difference is, I love my face, I thankfully got blessed with more or less good genes, but these people, well. What can I say? I’m not the one to judge, I probs hate my body as much as you hate your whole self. That’s why you go for others because hating your own self and you being a topic in your conversations is depressing

[sofasapple]

In reality. I never truly harmed anyone for no reason, I always mind my own buisness. But if people involve me in theirs and in some way it certainly affects me, or if people start to bark at me, ofcourse I’ll bark at them back, either verbally or perhaps physically ( I’m joking about the physical part), but still, I’m not a shy mushroom, I speak up, I fight back for whatever fucking reason there is.

[sofasapple]

But lowkey, i don’t even want anything, I just want people to accept me and be kind to me just because of the way I am. Like I dearly apologize for not fitting in your standards or a specific part of this society, but god, we’re all the same, and you have no valid reason to hate me when I didn’t harm you in any way.

[sofasapple]

This was taken yesterday. I feel enormous, I feel huge and I feel disgusted by myself. I wish I could just love myself the way I am, but I can’t. I want to destroy my body and shrink it as much as I can. Because this is what we call body dysmorphia. For some people I may seem fat, for others average, maybe for some thin. But for me I feel awfully huge, that’s my vision and my opinion. I know I’ll get thinner, but at what cost? I guess we’ll never know, but im okay with giving my life away for being thin. And if people decide to ruin it by trying to make me gain weight or hospitalizing me, I won’t even stutter or take another doubt, I’ll just kill myself. Simply, because im not scared of death, im more scared of failure, and loss of control. And ofcourse weight gain. If I can’t be atleast somewhat happy then I don’t wanna be on this planet at all, because what’s the point of being kept alive if you feel trapped and in pain? Obviously none. Take this as a patient with cancer, the cancer got so bad, untreatable, the persons in pain, they can’t fight anymore. Well that goes the same way to me. And even professionals compare eating disorders to cancers. Because both are irrevently the same.

[sofasapple]

I’m the same as everyone else, I have hobbies, I have fashion taste, I have music taste, I have plenty of topics to talk about with others, im funny. The only difference between you and me is that I chose to be self centered on being extremely thin, which causes me to struggle dearly with food, while you’re enjoying yours, with your perfect body. And I’m happy. I hope more and more people accept themselves just the way they are. Because before you know it, you’ll be in a dead end loop like me

[sofasapple]

I could talk for hours, days, years about this, because I haven’t been able to truly express myself with anyone. Psychologists gave up on me, they think I’m a lost case. But that’s okay, better off without them than with them. I wish I could have an actual friend who relates to all of my problems, because otherwise, it’s truly lonely. I have friends, awesome people, always making me happy. But I always feel lonely, because I wasn’t truly able to fully talk about it with anyone since I haven’t met many people who do specifically the things that I do, although don’t get me wrong, im not any different than others, everyone just have different symptoms. But honestly, talking to myself on here, writing this for myself, it helps. It’s as if I’m talking to somebody when I’m really not, and it’s relaxing, because I just want to be heard, even by myself, with no comments, no opinions, no point of views. Nothing

[sofasapple]

The only way I’ve been able to hide my Ed is from drinking liquids, “”drinking”” I don’t actually drink them, I play with them like a brain dead idiot back and forth. That’s why my cups always full. But yeah my life is disgusting and ruined, and even tho it’s this way, it doesn’t stop me from being happy nor enjoying life of socializing with others.but again, sooner or later I know I’ll die, I’m in a state of mindset where there’s no coming back, recovery unfortunately will never reach me, because just hearing the word makes me gag. I don’t mind ruining my life over a simple scale digit, or a simple “body look” although I know it will never be enough, yet still it fulfills my happiness, even if it’s for a short period of time. As much as I’d like to reciprocate with people who managed to recover, I just can’t. I don’t want to, and I’m okay with dying from malnutrition. This is sick, everything sounds sick, and I know people will, can laugh, or say hurtful things such as “you’re insane, you’re mentally ill” but you’ve never been in my shoes, and at the same time I’ll never be in yours. Everyone’s life is different, everyone has different controversies. But you’re not allowed to judge me for living off and on my life with bulimia, pica and the famous “well known anorexia” when you literally don’t know it’s feeling, and the struggles that people go through because of it everyday. And of-course that’s fine, totally. Just honestly sucks that there’s always bitches piercing ur ears and saying rude things when you’re just literally here. Existing, minding your own business and focusing on your deadly tango dance.

[sofasapple]

as much as I’d like to talk openly about my eating I feel like I can’t because the way I eat is disgusting, from binging to purging turning into CHSP and much more, I won’t even go into details but that’s the only way I’m able to maintain my weight+ by the use of thyroid supplements, vitamins… it just sucks

[sofasapple]

I’ll write more things tomorrow because I think I’ll head out to bed now plus I have an exam and I’m excited to check my weight tomoroww because the past two weeks I’ve finally broke my plateau and it’s been shooting down like shooting stars ✨

[sofasapple]

But honestly, I hate those bitches who look down on others after hearing a few rumors or if they “look weird to them” because y’all always open ur fat mouths talking about “girls supporting girls” or “girly girl” but you act the fucking opposite which is at the same time sad but hilarious. you just want validation, say so, it’s okay.

[sofasapple]

Like honestly my life is a rollercoaster, it’s not even boring shit always happens outside of school. I’ve met many people, but chose to talk with a few, because I don’t feel comfortable around most, and I think it’s self explanatory too because everyone’s different and not everyone can reciprocate with your vibe nor your taste n that’s totally fine

[sofasapple]

ever since I’ve relapsed in my Ed ( 2023 ) many people have left me, turned their backs on me.. really shows how “good” of a friend they were, when in reality it was js mainly about fitting in for them, I’ll always hold grudges against these people but at the same time I’m glad that I still have a few friends who never left me even at my worst times ever. And who js accept me for who I am not what “I’m supposed to be defined by society”

[sofasapple]

obviously main part

how I lost weight

so I discovered pills called “furosemide” “Dulcolax” and molecules. all three combined were the key to my fast weightloss.

what’s furosemide ? Dulcolax ? Molécules? just before u come at me, no those aren’t drugs, and to all the people at school who said I use drugs, honestly go fuck your self, because I never did and never will, yall r annoying always assuming the wildest things. And I’m not weird, Im just deep in my disorder so I couldn’t care less about making friendships and socializing because the biggest part about socializing with new people, is food involment.So yeah, obviously I’m gonna go and avoid that. Thanks

back to the point, furosemide is a diuretic “water pill”, which basically pushes out excess fluid out of ur body, a person could loose up to 5 kilos in HOURS from it. So what do you expect? Obviously I went and bulked up on these lol. next, MOLECULE PLUS, weird Thai “weightloss” pills, but honestly they work as diuretics but with their additional “hunger cutting” and bad side effects such as heart problems, low blood pressure, thyroid malfunction..

Dulcolax, just a classic laxative to make u poop and empty your bowels fully, I used to take a bunch of these before, but now it’s probably 5 pills a day x3 times a week. So yeah, little improvement.

those 3 were my key ingredients to weightloss+ a bunch of iv fluids that I used to get pumped with and a side from that medications to mention my overall “physical health” (it worked but not a lot I got fluid pumped out of my lungs and my stomach is almost paralyzed) HUT OVERALL the rest is good.

so yeah imagine combining these 3+ a 150 calorie diet. You’re welcome, plus aside from that purging, chewing and spitting and the list goes on. I also walk everyday MINIMUM 11 k steps a day, have been already for almost a year. So there you go. I’ve been living this way with this diet for over a few years now. And I’m fine, I feel alright, I guess.

[sofasapple]

Anyways I’ll js post random daily stuff here, obviously mainly Ed related since that’s the circles I hangout with and I couldn’t care less about anything else happening in the world

I have an edtwt too but I’m barely active there so tumblr works js fine

[sofasapple]

at this point let’s all just joke about allat because who likes to hear sad, sad is boring. So turning everything into rainbows and unicorns sounds much much more funnier 🤓

[sofasapple]

my story

A Relentless Struggle Between Control and Self-Destruction

This isn’t a mystery. There are no locked doors, no riddles waiting to be solved. But there are clues—scattered like shattered glass—for anyone willing to understand. This is a story about me, Sofia.

How It Started

Autumn, 2021. The season of endings. Of trees shedding their leaves, of the world tucking itself into a slow, inevitable decay. I was eleven, standing at the threshold of another school day, another morning of quiet dread.

Ask any normal kid if they want to go to school, and they might groan, complain about homework, dream of playing video games instead. But my answer was different. No. Not because school was boring, but because school was war.

Every day, I walked into a battlefield disguised as a classroom. Teachers, classmates, strangers—anyone with a mouth and a cruel streak had something to say.

"You're fat."

"You're disgusting."

"Your legs jiggle too much when you run."

Laughter followed me like a shadow. It crawled up my spine and curled around my throat, making it hard to breathe. Even adults played along—like my PE teacher, who let me train for rugby for months only to humiliate me in the end.

"You're too fat to play," she said, smiling. Smiling. Like my suffering was an inside joke.

I learned early that my body was a spectacle, a joke, a thing to be mocked and twisted into whatever shape people wanted. So when I walked through those heavy school doors, I wasn’t just stepping into a building—I was walking into a dungeon.

At home, I had a room fit for a princess—tall ceilings, big windows, soft pastel colors straight out of a fairy tale. But what’s the point of a castle if you’re trapped inside it? If the walls are just another kind of prison?

Because even there, I wasn’t safe. The echoes of laughter, of insults, of all the things they made me feel—I carried them everywhere. They dug into my skin, nested in my bones, whispered in my ear.

"You were just a kid," people say. "You should have forgotten by now."

But I haven’t. I hold grudges, against them, against myself. And when you hold something for too long, it becomes part of you.

The Descent Begins

Autumn. The season of endings. But for me, it was the beginning.

I didn’t have a phone, but I had an iPad. And in the endless void of the internet, I searched for an answer. "How to lose weight." A simple question, an innocent curiosity.A question that millions of girls have asked before me.

Or so I thought.

I scrolled past workout videos (too exhausting), diet plans (too slow), until I found it.

"Lose 10 kilos in 10 days with water fasting."

A woman on the screen, smiling, glowing, talking about how she drank nothing but water and lost weight effortlessly. Only water? That’s it? Sounds easy.

I should have known better. But at eleven, you don’t know better.

The first day was hunger, sharp and clawing. The second was dizziness, a floating, weightless kind of pain. By the third, my body begged, screamed, twisted itself into knots.

But when I stepped on the scale—three kilos gone.

Euphoria. A high unlike any other. The kind that makes you feel invincible. The kind that swallows you whole.

And so it continued. I fell deeper, deeper. Starving. Shrinking. Shriveling.

Then, suddenly—compliments.

"You look great," the same people who once called me disgusting whispered now, their voices softer, approving.

I felt powerful. My ego grew as my body withered.

Then I moved countries. A fresh start. A new life.

But no matter where you go, you can’t outrun yourself.

Descending into the Mirror: The Birth of the Brute

A trip to Morocco. A reunion with family. A blur of food, endless food—sweet, rich, overwhelming. I lost control. Ate until I felt sick, then ate some more. It was like something inside me had cracked open, and I couldn’t stop stuffing the emptiness.

When I returned, I stepped on the scale.

56 kilos.

The number carved itself into my brain, burned into my skin. I was overweight. A failure. A pathetic, gluttonous creature.

I was eleven again, standing in the school hallway, hearing their voices call me disgusting.

Ramadan was coming. Fasting. A perfect excuse, a perfect trap.

I told myself I’d stop at 45 kilos. But hunger is an addiction. Control is an illusion. Soon, I was vomiting after every meal, chewing and spitting my food just to taste something without the guilt.

Then 42.

Then 38.

Somewhere in that spiral, my old classmate called me. We caught up, laughed—until she dropped it, casual, effortless, like a dagger slipping between my ribs.

"You're fat."

I wasn’t. I knew I wasn’t.

But logic means nothing when the wound is already open. The words took root in me like poison, and suddenly, 38 wasn’t enough.

White Walls, Cold Hands: A Wound Deeper Than the Body

August 20. The day my body stopped belonging to me.

I had been through psychiatric check-ups before. Weigh-ins, questions, the usual routine.

But this time, she knew. She saw through my tricks, my layers of deception.

And just like that, my fate was sealed.

"Hospital or force-feeding."

I had no choice.

They shoved food down my throat, stripped me of control, shattered the only thing I had left—autonomy.

I wanted to disappear. But I was still there.

I wanted to scream. But there were no words left.

Since then, I have lived in madness. I have lost the right to my own body.

They tell me I am two halves—the sick me and the real me.

But there is no second me. I am one, whole, broken, bleeding.

I exist in a space where I cannot escape, where even silence feels like screaming.

And now, they tell me I am hurting them by existing this way.

That my suffering is a burden.

That my pain is inconvenient.

But what about me?

Who cares that I am the one drowning?

Who cares that I have spent years clawing at a door they refuse to unlock?

Who cares that I have fought, bled, burned—just for the right to be left alone?

Because that’s all I want.

To be left alone.

To be free from their control, their watchful eyes, their constant interference.

They think they’re saving me.

But they don’t understand—I do not want to be saved.

I want to breathe.

I want to exist.

I want to be mine.

And if they cannot accept that—then maybe, just maybe, they are the real problem.

Because what I have stays with me for life, I know I’ll die, and I’m okay with that, this is my destiny, I accepted it. I fear numbers going up more than death. So let it be the cost of my happiness. My life. 

I gave away my social life and my sanity for this disorder, I don’t care if I’m gonna be made fun of or called an attention seeker. I was a joke most of my life, so nothing really changes. But atleast now what does change, is that I can be happy at some decency, even for a little while, but it’s pure happiness that nothing or nobody else will ever offer me anymore.