Content Warning: This content may be triggering to those struggling with eating disorders
Like any anxiety-riddled modern bitch, I experienced a nauseating thought-spiral upon hearing that I would be required to stay in my home for the foreseeable future. One of the first thoughts I had was, “Oh no, does this mean I’m going to gain weight?” quickly followed by, “Omg wtf is wrong with me? People are dying and I’m worried about getting stretch marks.” Then the spiral stopped right there, and I decided to be happy, carefree, and at peace.
Lmao, obviously joking. I swan dove into a whirlpool of panic about my morals, self worth, thigh gap, and death. But once I was able to take a step back, take my meds, and talk to my therapist, I was able to see that worrying about my body image during this crisis doesn’t make me a bad, superficial person who doesn’t care that people are dying. In fact, as someone who has struggled with eating disorders since the age of 12, my reaction makes a lot of sense.
I first stumbled upon anorexia when I gave up sweets for Lent in the sixth grade and every teacher, classmate, and their WASP mother at my small town Catholic school commented about how much weight I had lost. The attention felt good, like I had accomplished something. But with that high came what never leaves you after struggling with an ED: the fear that you will lose the control you currently have over your weight. What would people say—or worse, think—then? Being thin was *my thing* now, and being in control of that was my number one priority.
Fast forward to now. What to do you know, it’s Lent season again and I’m obsessing over my body. Life comes full circle.
Since 6th grade, I’ve always had anorexia in my back pocket, at the ready for when I’m in a bad place and need something to fixate on to distract myself from other emotional trauma (lol). I’ve made people worry about me, obsessed over making sure certain bones stay jutting out, and at most times become unable to recognize what my body actually looks like because all I see is “too big” or “gross.” Body dysmorphia is a real bitch. I’ve dabbled in bulimia but have never stuck with that one for long because I’m not very good at throwing up (brag), and at one point was doing this thing where I’d chew food for the taste and then spit it out, but I’m not really sure what to even call that. But no matter what tactic I’m using, and even at times when I can recognize that my weight is healthy or I even feel good about my body, one thing remains the same: I’m absolutely stressed the f*ck out over the idea of gaining weight.
Years of therapy has taught me that everything I do—even the destructive, irrational sh*t—I do for a reason. And while eating disorders ultimately make me miserable, they also bring me temporary solace. They make me feel like I’m in control. I mean, ironically, they are in control of me and my happiness, but they make me feel like there is a small portion of my daily life where I am calling the shots. I am in charge of the amount of calories that I take in, the amount that I burn through exercise, the amount I release by vomiting. And so, it’s no coincidence that my eating disorders are at their worst when I feel out of control in other aspects of my life.
Being confined to your home with no real end in sight is overwhelming. Knowing you can’t go about your daily routine is stressful and anxiety-inducing. Not having access to your usual workouts and being stuck inside where you’re likely to eat and drink out of boredom is scary, especially if you struggle with an eating disorder, or any type of body image issues. These reactions are normal. Unusual circumstances are going to trigger the ways in which stress manifests for you, and that’s okay.
Also, hear me out, it is possible to be upset and worried about two things at once. You can be anxious about your weight and disturbed by death at the same time. I would argue that many of us worry about both of those things at once on the regular. So, during a pandemic, it’s reasonable for both of those concerns to intensify.
Live footage of me finding multiple things to be anxious about at once.
It’s also important to note that the obsession with body image isn’t something *you* came up with. A little bitch I like to call society can be blamed for this one. I don’t think I need to launch into an entire TED Talk about how society has brainwashed us into valuing our looks and a certain standard of beauty, as we’re all pretty familiar with that concept and Jameela Jamil has me covered there. So, being concerned about your looks during a pandemic is also just a reaction that you have learned to prioritize.
Being triggered by stress doesn’t make you shallow. Wanting to have control over something while the world as you know it collapses around you doesn’t make you a self-centered bimbo. And having an eating disorder certainly doesn’t make you weak or materialistic. It all makes you a human living in this dumb world, reacting to things like anyone else.
If you’re struggling with an eating disorder, call the National Eating Disorder Association hotline at 1-800-931-2237.
Images: Giphy (2); i yunmai / Unsplash
Like every hot betch, you spend your Saturday night out at one of the hottest clubs and score the hottest pro at the bar. In a Coachella-level haze of candy and vodka, you find yourself inching one Loub at a time up five flights of stairs into his apartment.
The next thing you know your clothes are off and you’re lying on his bed while he’s standing over you naked with a fully flaccid penis. The problem is clear. This guy’s dick is having a harder time getting up than your 95-year-old grandmother. You’ve just encountered a case of Putty Penis, commonly referred to by Viagra commercials as Erectile Dysfunction. All of which is still covered by the GOP Health Plan, btw.
Like Silly Putty, this dick is supposed to get hard but for some unnatural reason it just won’t. Unlike indefinitely soft silly putty, Putty Penis cannot be played with among you and your friends. If you thought a hard dick was ugly, Putty P is like something straight out of Saw VII.
There is nothing to think about in this situation. Your only and immediate reaction should be to laugh as hard as you fucking can directly in his face and then RUN AND HIDE. This is NOT your soulmate.
Under no circumstance should you “try to help him out.” As a betch, you are by default hot and amazing and even if this guy was in a coma, you will always be enough to raise his interests. This is a situation that is certainly not like, whatever.
Let’s back up a little and talk about what Carrie Bradshaw might call “The 20-something ED era.” Although we’re not doctors or shrinks, unless you have mucus dripping all over your face from the 8-ball you split earlier, it’s not you, it’s him. No exceptions.
There are various types of ED and some are clearly more disastrous and concerning than others. Let’s discuss the two most common:
The Teenager: This is what most would consider the most benign/acute form of ED and probably what 50% or so of young guys have experienced at one point or another, usually the result of drinking too much and doing too many drugs. If you’re hooking up with a guy and have to question his hardness, this is a clear sign that the only thing that will be getting up is you, off of his couch.
Betches, what we’re describing here is the Teenager. It is not a baby, but not quite adult size. With some nourishment it could develop into its full potential, but then again you also run the risk of having a mouth full of mush. Does this seem like an equal pro/con/pro to you?? We’ve all been through sorority rush, we’re over that shit.
The Noodle: The noodle is a more severe form of The Teenager and could potentially be an actual physical or psychological disorder. There is no doubt in your mind that this guy is not hard and even if you endured enough botox to have the mouth of Uma Thurman, there’s no way this thing is budging.
He’s not hard and you’re aware. Congrats, you’re a fucking scientist. This can be the most annoying kind of ED, because frequently the guy may try to compensate for his “shortcomings” and attempt to:
1. Aggressively dry-hump you while naked and fully soft, continuously thrusting and screaming some form of, “I want to fuck the shit out of you.” *Cringe* or:
2. If he wasn’t raised in the jungle, he will softly cuddle you and rub his soft penis around in circles, in an almost bear hug, a term which we will refer to as noodeling. So don’t fucking lay there and pretend it’s normal, because it’s not. Like those announcements at the airport that never shut the fuck up, if you see something, say something. Noodeling is creepy. Betches don’t eat carbs.
Let’s talk about ED’s perverted cousin, the premature ejaculator. There are few things worse than the 2-minute man who’s delusional enough to think he’s actually good in bed. This guy’s even worse than the embarrassed bro who comes immediately at the touch of your hand down his pants. At least you didn’t fuck this loser.
All these guys will complain about being too drunk, too tired, too stoned blah blah blah, but the fact of the matter is it’s 9am and the only thing they have put in their system since 1am last night is your saliva.
Be it a fear of shitty performance, the fact that the sight of your amazing boobs makes him come in 15 seconds, or you’re his unsuccessful beard for the night, it’s not your fucking problem.
As a betch, when presented with any of these non-sticky situations, it’s best to move on right away and focus on guys who are on your level. Even prissy WASP Charlotte MacDougal was not down to deal a guy’s inability to get it up, and he had a fucking Park Avenue apartment.