Taylor Swift Comfort Imagines

I'm the problem, it's me

MAJOR TW: eating disorder thought process, body dysmorphia, toxic beauty standrads, perfectionism, severe self-hatred. A lot of spiraling and jumping to the worst case scenario. Not a lot of comfort. This is my personal experience with an eating disorder an body dysmorphia, some people may find it offensive, but it's a very personal problem. I only treat myself/think of myself like this. 

As nice as Gracie Abrams is, I can't help but feel like something is wrong with me after spending time with her. She is so toned and skinny. I'm built like a penguin. I've been both skinny and muscular, just not at the same time: I have to resort to extreme restriction to lose weight, and then it's hard for me to build muscle. I've been in recovery for a year now, and I hate it. I hate how everyone thinks I'm ok now because I'm not skinny anymore. I look down and start grabbing the fat on my lower belly and thighs, flooded with dissatisfaction and frustration. Why can't I just be skinny? I used to be, before I started restricting. I guess it's true: I slowed down my metabolism and now everything goes to my stomach. Every time I eat, my stomach expands like a balloon, exemplifying what is already my biggest insecurity. 

My explore page and for you page is filled with girls who store all of their weight in the butt and thighs. I wish I could, but whenever I look in the mirror I'm built like a door. A fat door. 

"I made a lot of pasta! Do either of you want seconds?" Taylor asks.

"Yes chef!" Gracie responds, saluting Taylor. 

"Honey, do you want seconds, dessert, or anything?" Taylor asks me

Maybe Gracie can have seconds but I sure can't. If I had a thinner body type, maybe I could. But I know all of it will go to my lower belly and inner thighs. I feel even worse that Taylor made time for me, cooked dinner, and brought Gracie over because she knew I wanted to meet her. Now I'm ignoring both of them as I pick at my body and the food on my plate. 

"Y/n?" Taylor asks, a hint of concern highlighted in her tone. 

"No I'm good. Thanks Taylor it was really good," I say, my voice carrying out to the kitchen, where Taylor was getting Gracie seconds. 

"But you barely ate," Gracie says, motioning to my plate. When people bring that up, it just makes me want to cry. I can't cry right now. 

"Yeah, not all of us look like you. I mean, my head hurts I'm going to go study" I say, catching myself in the middle of saying something rude. When I enter self-sabotage mode, it's hard to stop. I want to close myself off from everyone. 

I excuse myself to my room, muttering apologies for not spending more time with my sister or one of my favorite singers. I need to study anyways: I'm not talented like Taylor, so my grades are all I have. As I pull out my laptop, my reflection catches my attention, seemingly forcing my to walk towards the mirror. I stare and stare, flexing my muscles and relaxing, hating the way no matter what I do. I wish I was just an hourglass with a tiny waist. Why do I have to nearly kill myself for a body that some people naturally have? Some people would say I need to gain weight, others would say I need to lose it. Am I trapped? If I restrict more my metabolism will slow down even more. I don't have the willpower to stick with it, every time I end up binging and gaining back the weight. Sure, I can build muscle easily, but it doesn't give me that slim toned look like Gracie. I look more like a linebacker from Travis's team. This is my least favorite part of being a woman: you are expected to have a tiny waist, a big butt, and be toned but not too strong. A perk of being Taylor's younger sister is strangers on the internet feeling free to talk about my body. They say I look pregnant, that I need to work out, and that I'm an embarrassment to Taylor.