hamilton morris is my thinspo god

Fuck it.  Fuck this.  This is my fucking blog, and I can say whatever the hell I want to, even if it’s problematic or unwoke or politically incorrect or whatever bizarre adjective you’d like to use. 

I want to be as skinny as Hamilton Morris. 

There, I said it.  He’s like the god of all thinspo to me.  I don’t really have an eating disorder anymore—I’m much too lazy to actually restrict, and since I know what it’s like to be fucking hungry all the time, I’d rather put some extra oil in my food than shove crisp, overly seasoned, burnt vegetables into my mouth like some fucking crazed sadist.  Which, admittedly, is what I am to a degree.  But not as badly as when I was a full-blown rexie.  

This all started because I’ve been rewatching Hamilton’s Pharmacopeia for the past few weeks, and with every episode I consume, it gets harder and harder for me to tell where my desire for Hamilton’s divine face ends and where my desire for his twig-like legs to walk over and attach themselves to my body begins. 

I feel like a rabid beast

In a New York Times profile, it was noted that, in Hamilton's apartment, "there wasn’t much actual food." It goes on: "Mr. Morris said he is a fan of Soylent, the powdered meal replacement designed to fuel Silicon Valley’s young tech workers." I have one thing to say about that: what the fuck.  I know I said earlier that I was a sadist, but even at my anorexia-est, I was never THAT crazy to totally get rid of food and just drink shitty overpriced smoothies.  

*shudders*

I actually did try an all-liquids diet last year (not for fun; I just had a chronic pain flare-up so bad I lost the ability to chew lolz), and that’s not something I’d really like to revisit.  I did get quite skinny though, which was nice.  But not Hamilton skinny. 

My quest for Hamilton thinness in years gone past has led me to develop osteopenia and probably a host of other ailments that will plague me as my youth declines and life wields its toll on my body.  I don’t care.  I want to be a bony sack with a messy mop of hair on top of my head.  I think it looks beautiful, like the Mona Lisa or a Monet painting or whatever normal people find visual fulfillment in.  

Sometimes I wish this were enough for me

I think it’s a real shame that you can customize so many aspects of your body—your hair color, your facial appearance, your nose via a nose job, etc.—but you can’t change the grotesque silhouette of a body you are forced to experience the world with.  I think that’s shit.  Literally, I think having a body is so fucked up that I don’t want to have kids until we figure out what is going on because I’m so unhappy that I can’t customize my avatar to look like a stick bug. 

my ideal corporeal form

Anyways, I’m attempting to get to at least a VERSION of Hamilton Morris thinness.  I learned from starving myself that that will only give me demoralizing medical problems and the body I had when I was 13 and hated everything about myself, so that won’t do.  I have to try to eat properly and exercise and build lots of muscle so I can “cut” and lose body fat, and then reveal my scrawny physique.  Which pisses me off, because again, why do I have to work so hard for this shit when people like Hamilton just naturally have what I’ve wished for my entire life?

But then again, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s to be careful what you wish for.  So who knows how this will all turn out.