#bone-related disorders

[vourpire]

Is your hot girl summer going well? Or is it food that's going down your throat.

[raincamp]

the masculine urge to throw myself down a stairwell because i feel like nobody is paying attention to me

[losingmorethanteeth]

thinspo for the new year ✨

**not my photos, let me know if you need tagged or taken down**

[aenvii]

th1nsp0

[prettyprettyboness]

whatever core this is

[maplecals]

i love hip bones

[cult-ugw]

I’m starting a long fast right after my exams: every like is one hour of fasting

(or maybe suggest how many hours I should do in the comments ^^)

My current record is 63 hours, so I would love to beat it

[ana-circa]

I don’t wanna fucking talk ab it

[elisadaughtry]

Hungers Dance

A dance with vicious illusions, where beauty’s charm is destroyed.

There longing for emptiness, where darkness fills the void,

Each bite is a war, a storm within the soul,

Where hunger meets its echo, and shadows take their toll.

In the mirror’s gaze, where shadows twist and bend,

A fragile form, in silence, whispers to the wind.

A ballad of desperation, one last flicker of hope

Yet sadly pushed aside as four walls grew close

The mirror’s icy whisper, with its promise of release,

Becomes a siren’s lure, denying peace.

The scales hold a cruel confession, while

the numbers softly lie,

And beneath a trembling shell, a hungry spirit cries.

Beauty is not in hunger,

Beauty is not of flesh or bone.

And in what seems a never-ending battle,

Your cries aren’t alone.

For whoever needed to hear this. It’s not the best so don’t criticize or judge. You either like it and need to hear it or you don’t.

[bloodycorpz3]

Distorted and disorder - ed shit post

Mirrors lie to me. So do phones. The reflection in car windows tells another story as my reflection in windows counter it. The mirror in my bedroom and the one in my bathroom whisper rumors. The one on my vanity and the one hung up on my door share my secrets. Yet despite the blatant mistrust, one thing remains true: I have no clue what I look like, and they know this.

I have six mirrors in my room, and I stand there, body checking myself in all of them, making sure how I look in one carries on to another. I turn to my side, suck in, angle my hips, and raise my arms above my head. I need to see bones, I tell myself. As long as I see my ribs peaking through, the curve of my hip bone or the outline of my collar I am okay. I am thin.

I don't trust it.

I pull out my phone, I take a video of me spinning slowly so I can see how I look from each angle. I set it up and walk towards it so I can see what I look like when I move. I take photos of myself when I sit to see what spills and what stays. I fact(fat)-check my body, making sure it reaches boxes of impossible yet desperate standards.

I am disordered, so therefore I am distorted.

[imminentdawn]

Fat girls are always thinking about your body. Yes, your body. They’ve studied every curve, dip and divot, the way extensor tendons creep up hands and collarbones leap out of clavicles. For the fat girl, she’s always thinking about your body— and hers. She’s haunted by the spectre of the flat stomach; she avoids mentioning it but it’s always on her mind. She has only one wish, and it is to be thin. She’s often thought about what she would trade —fame, fortune, skill— for the currency of being skinny. 

To be thin is to be free of having a body; you get to be a person first and a body second. But to be fat is to be acutely aware of every roll, bulge and bump, the way skin chafes and rubs, the way your cheekbones are swallowed by your face and the indents your knuckles leave behind on the surface of your hands. Skinny girls will never understand how fatness plagues every waking thought of the fat girl— you’re watching yourself from every angle, trying desperately to catch yourself in a light where you’re not as fat as you seem, where you could be mistaken as one of them. Skinny girls will never understand how you can have two trains of thought running simultaneously— one about whatever you’re doing, and the other about your weight. It’s a running commentary that never lets up, informing every picture you take (god, you fucking hate pictures) and friend you meet. 

People see your size before they see you: you are your size. To be thin is to be permitted the privilege of personhood. You get to just be instead of being fat. It’s a dirty word, isn’t it? Fat. You’ll never catch a fat girl saying the F-word, lest it get too close to her and contaminate her with a disease she knows she’s already been infected with.

[losingmorethanteeth]

🌸 FEBRUARY THINSPO 🌸

**not my photos, let me know if you need tagged or taken down**

[vitasexualiiis]

thinking about Him*

(*chronic pain dazai)

[melonnna4a]

body ch3ck🫶🎀

[whiteribbonesundermyskin]

Reblogging this when I hit a new lw🖤

*Not my pics*

[m1dnightmunch]

i wanna taste the skinny