F*ck restrictions and your mom too

. I am pretty enough to fuck, just not pretty enough to date.

Ah, perfect timing. Another guy who exploited you for sex. Another failed relationship for the books. Another guy to lower your standards. It’s sad to think that I’d probably cry tears of joy if a man were to give me flowers. Or even just a forehead kiss

This story discusses topics such as eating disorders, body weight, calories, suicide, and other subjects that may be sensitive to some readers. It is important to be aware that these topics can be challenging or triggering for certain

bullshit myths of diet culture on a daily basis, and that you will recognize many of the scenarios described in this writing. If you resonate with any of my past experiences or harmful behaviors I hope this book will be your wake-up call. If you are a relative of someone struggling with an eating disorder I hope my intention to inform and educate will get across to you.

Please note that this book is not a medical guide. It must not be considered a weight gain guide nor is it a do-it-yourself manual holding valuable advice on how to recover from an eating disorder (let’s be honest: you skim through the typical highly-praised guide to self-improvement and leave it to decompose along with its shitty recommendations and motivational quotes). I must emphasize that F*CK RESTRICTIONS AND YOUR

My desperate need for male validation and my perfectionist qualities came to bite me in the ass when I developed an eating disorder at fourteen years old. My view on nutrition became extremely distorted which unfolded into dietary restrictions and excessive exercise, that gradually worsened over the five following years. When I finally gained some self-awareness and realized how much the eating disorder had consumed me (ironically enough), I acknowledged that I needed help.

The fact that you’ve picked up this book tells me you have most likely experienced what it’s like to struggle with an eating disorder, or maybe you have witnessed how such an illness changed a loved one and affected their surroundings. Even if this isn’t the case, it is beyond any doubt that you face

Hi, I’m Victoria. A single-minded, self-absorbed, overly-sensitive, perfectionistic plate of shit with a side of victim mentality (if described by my mom). My exes would probably also mention my “tough guy act” and my tendency to overthink everything, but honestly, who gives a shit about them? I at least pretend not to. I usually consider myself a very honest, logical, ambitious, and determined cock-teaser who often finds herself oversharing information about recent sexual experiences. Trust me, there’s nothing that I want more in life than to be mysterious, but I just can’t shut the fuck up, so I might as well write a book exposing myself completely.

Why do I always seem to strive for the unrealistic instead of accepting that some things are out of my control and that I should learn to value the qualities that make me unique? No wonder I am disappointing myself repeatedly. I am quite literally putting myself up for failure.

I thought that acknowledging my mental illness and speaking up about it would be like throwing myself a pity-party where everyone would tip-toe around me like I hadn’t just overheard their private mutterings that maybe therapy “just wasn’t working for me.”

I felt tired of being so isolated, tired of being so anxious, tired of being so self-conscious, tired of being so calculated, and some evenings I encountered sudden strong feelings of worthlessness. I began to fear myself.

I no longer saw food as something to be enjoyed, but rather as figures and digits which led me to steer clear of alcohol and meals out. My only goal was to shrink myself, and I was confident that putting numbers to everything I ate would restore my feeling of control entirely – but after some time, keeping track of my food intake caused me to avoid all social settings and, since I refused to exit my house, I completely disconnected from friends and family.