I have been thinking lately about why my relationship with food is so bad. I think that for much of my life food has been my method of self-harm. Instead of cutting myself I have chosen to fill the cracks in my psyche with fat. Sadly, there is little sympathy for those with my particular method of self-destruction. If I were jones’in for a line or syringe of something a bit more rock and roll I believe there would be so much more help available. I wish it didn’t hold so much power over me. To a certain degree I think that had so much of my journey not been public I probably would have gained it all back by now. It kills me that I struggle to see myself as I am and not as the little fat girl that everyone hated so much (or at least that’s how I felt).
I cannot pinpoint the exact point it started. But, I can still vividly remember being bullied to the point of peeing myself so a teacher would send me home. I must have been around 9 or 10. An older girl pushed me to the ground and got right in my face. She said you make me sick fatty! This was one of many, many episodes that sadly dominated my most formative years. I would do literally anything to stay home from school. Throwing myself into a ditch, riding my bike into a wall, anything I could to cause enough damage to warrant a pass from school. Finally, when I was 11 my mum finally relented and I was home schooled from that point. I look back and wonder if by doing that I allowed the bullies to win. But, I suppose nobody knows what to do in that situation. All I craved was respite from the daily cruelty and abuse.
But, by leaving school I am not sure the outcome left me any better. I had very few friends and I soon learned adults could be just as cruel as children. I suppose this is part of the reason I crave some of that youth I missed out on. I have the body I so desperately wanted at 18 and feel like I need to recapture the many, many moments I missed out on. Is trying to cheat Mother Nature a little really the worst thing in the world? Surely not… There was so much pubescent loneliness. I remember hearing about the various dances and school events I missed. I tried to tell myself it didn’t matter, that I didn’t care. But, I did and I do know I can’t get those things back.
I realise there will never be an opportunity to go to the prom. Although if anyone should be interested in a slightly over the hill prom date I probably wouldn’t say no.