I don’t even know anymore

*:.。. .。.:*・゜゚🎃🍂🎃・゜゚*:.。. .。.:*

I think I was six when I first felt fat. There was a really popular girl my class I thought was so pretty. She always dressed nice, had long blonde hair, and of course she hated me for a reason I still can’t quite work out.

Compared to her I felt so ugly. I dressed in the optional school uniform because for some reason my parents thought it was mandatory, my hair was short and brown, I was very timid, and most of all I had a big belly. Looking back at pictures of myself while growing up, I’ve been an average weight pretty much until the end of high school.

During recess I would run around all over the playground and was only happy if I was sweating like a boy. I wasn’t sure what exercise was but I knew the more I sweated the more my stomach would shrink because all the boys were really skinny.

It didn’t help that no one liked me. I felt like someone tattooed “Bully Me” on my forehead in an ink that everyone except for me could see.  I’ve had issues with bullies all the way up until high school. Throughout that time I was already pretty down due to living in an abusive household. More often than not I would contemplate if throwing myself in front of a car would kill me or if I would just wind up in a hospital hated by everyone for not killing myself properly.  It did not help that my step Dad said if we ever tried to kill ourselves and failed we would be kicked out. I’m not sure why he would randomly say this to us. Like maybe he knew we were suffering but whenever he would say that it was really random and not relevant to whatever was going on.

My self harm did not take the form of cutting. Mainly because we were too fucking poor for me to sneak some money to buy razor blades. We did have fleas though and I am very allergic to them. When I get bit, the bite swells to the size of a quarter and becomes as hard as rock. It discolors to look almost like a bruise and them will scab over even if I don’t touch it. It gave me the perfect chance to hurt myself. I have so many scars all over from picking at scabs just so I could watch myself bleed. I felt so good watching the skin pull away and blood come out. It was addicting. We lived in a shitty ghetto apartment (~2004- 2010 Chula Vista. Not sure what it’s like now but when I was growing up the city was a shit hole) with management that didn’t bother doing anything about the flea infestation mainly because they were more preoccupied with changing our complex name every month. I kid you not I don’t know what the complex was called because it changed its name once a month. It also happened to change managers once a month too so if you had an issue, good fucking luck.

But back to me self harming. Our step dad was overweight, short, and diabetic. He did not understand portion control for himself or his children. From the time our Mom started dating him, we were given these massive portions. I look at my nephew’s plates and the plates for children in stores and what we were given were adult sizes. And we were forced to eat it or be physically struck, often with a belt. It didn’t help that we were not allowed to not like foods. There was a dish, I can’t remember what it was, and I hated it. I was forced for two hours to eat it and was only allowed to stop when I puked it back up. Little did I know I was lactose sensitive so it was probably all the fucking milk and butter that made me puke. We were not allowed to not eat. I learned over the years to just ignore my stomach if it hurt. I ate so much fucking dairy and felt sick all the time I’m surprised it took until 2011 for me to realize what my issue was.

Middle school was a very dark period for me. On top of entering a new school, that was nick named Hell by everyone who went there, I found myself isolated. I had no friends for the first year and my grades were atrocious. It wasn’t until 8th grade art class did I finally meet people I could call my friends. Looking back now I was more like a tag-along they felt sorry for so they tolerated my presence at school. Part of me knew this but since I wasn’t kicked out of their circle I didn’t really care.

Despite meeting new people I could actually talk too on some level, I still felt really bad. I was suffering hardcore from depression and my anxiety was starting to rear its ugly head. I felt like my biggest issue at the time was that I was fat. Not so because I was around 115-120, which for my  height (5’1) is pretty average. I hid myself in super baggy clothes and dreamed of the day I would be skinny and pretty and everyone would love me. That day never came in high school nor in my brief stint at college. Despite weighing only 114 lbs I still feel horribly fat. I don’t see any difference between myself now and myself at my highest weight of 145. I’ve obsessively measured myself so I know I’m shrinking but I don’t see it. I have a skirt with a 24 inch waistline that I can almost wear comfortably but I feel like that means nothing. I can wear size small tights and not muffin top but still I’m 145 in my head.

Since April, which was also my 1 year anniversary of being suicidal thought free, shooting for two years now, I don’t think I’ve eaten a normal meal. It’s almost like I traded in my suicidal thoughts for an eating disorder. I still get a little depressed and my anxiety is bad enough now I do want to get properly diagnosed so I can get help for it.

I don’t know who I am if I’m not feeling broken. I had a very brief period in April where I felt legitimately happy. I also felt a little empty. My life was fine so when does the bad thing happen? I don’t want help for my eating right now. It’s the bad thing that hurts me so everything else can be good. If I don’t have at least one bad thing continually ongoing then something really awful must be coming is my logic. Loosing weight is great for me, like it is the thing that keeps me wanting to do this to myself. I’m finally going to be skinny and happy, I just need to suffer everyday for it.

I know all of this is fucked up. I have no illusions about what I’m doing. I feel like since I haven’t been properly diagnosed then it isn’t that bad. I have no labels attached me so I can’t possibly be hurting myself in any meaningful way because if this is legit then everyone would know and I would be forced to get help. I feel like because no one has caught onto my issues then this isn’t real, that my suicidal thoughts were just made up and if I tell anyone then I’ll be lying because while I was having them no one tried to help me. If no one knows then there is no issue and I’m fine. I’m just loosing weight and finally feeling like my life is coming together.

 

As it stands, it’s currently 12:21 pm and I haven’t eaten a thing. IMG_20170723_161822_940.jpg

*:.。. .。.:*・゜゚🎃🍂🎃・゜゚*:.。. .。.:*

10 thoughts on “I don’t even know anymore

    • Thank you for your comment 🙂 I can afford to see a therapist thanks to insurance but as crazy as it sounds there actually is a bigger concern that I’m focusing on taking care of right now. I to have to admit I’m little nervous about my doctor about all this. He’s really nice and I know he’ll listen but it’s just weird talking to someone else about issues face to face. At least on here I have a bit of anonymity so it’s easier.

      • I agree how being anonymous helps when you’re trying to be open, but seeing a therapist has had a positive impact on so many people. I wish you all the best in taking care of your concerns, and also on focusing on your mental health, which plays a very important part in how you feel about yourself.
        Much love xx

  1. You should talk to a therapist. I found it was the best thing when I had suicidal thoughts (I still get them but I made a commitment to my son that I’d never take my life). Just because no one knows you feel that way, doesn’t mean the thoughts aren’t real. Speak to a psychologist. Stay strong 🙂

    • Thank you for your comment 🙂 I know what I feel is real but at the same time I guess part of me doesn’t want to really admit I have issues. It’s kinda scary, ya know?, admitting that I seriously have something wrong with me.

      • Admitting you have a problem is the first step. I’m won’t say it gets easier after that, because it doesn’t, but at least you’ve started walking. And walking gets easier the more steps you take. Take care and good luck 🙂

  2. I’m so happy you’re putting things like this out onto the internet. I can relate to some of the things you mentioned.. Even though people tell me “oh don’t worry, you’re not alone!”, and while I realize that statement is true on a conscious level.. it’s a whole different feeling when you actually read or hear of a real person’s experiences. I’ve been having a lot of issues lately with being very, very private about my thoughts or the ways I’m feeling, and that last paragraph you wrote struck a pretty deep chord in me, because those are the exact same things my mind likes to tell me. Sorry I kind of went off on a tangent here.. but I’m sending my best wishes to you and your life happenings. Like some other people suggested, talking to a therapist might help. I certainly understand your concerns, but in the end, it can be worth it. I had one for a while before we stopped being able to afford it and the lady I talked with was amazingly kind and helped (or at least allowed me to address and get a second look) with issues I was having with loneliness and my father (plus some other problems, but it was a while ago and those are the most prominent things I can remember). But putting myself aside, in the end, what you decide is the best action for is the one you should take. It can be hard easing into new and different things, and when you force yourself into something or follow blindly to everyone’s opinions, it can just make matters worse. Best wishes to you.

    • Yea, reading about other’s people experiences with this is really validating- especially since I go into some really bad denial phases. I don’t like reading about how other people are suffering but it’s comforting knowing that they’re out there and they’re trying. It makes me feel like I can try too and actually get better. I’m sorry you’re going through some issues and I hope you get help 🙂 I’m not sure how much of a help I can be but I’m always here if you need to talk. People telling me I need see a therapist has been a bit validating for me and I’m really thinking about it. I’m still a bit nervous but I don’t want this to get worse. It’s bad enough already.

      • Thank you so much for the kind words and offer. If you ever need to talk to someone one-on-one, I’m here as well. Though I don’t know how comforting a stranger’s words are, and I don’t know how quickly I’ll be able to respond, I will certainly try my best. ❤ Everyone has the potential to get better I think, at least in most circumstances. It can take some time, maybe even a whole heap of time (I should know), but getting better is always a possibility. You might get worse before you get better, you might get better then worse again, you might get better very slowly, but life is full of uncertainty and anything is a possibility. You're already on the right track from what I've read. You've acknowledged the problem and a possible solution. Progress has already been made. You're always able to set up a consultation session with a therapist to meet them before you decide you want to commit to them, if that makes you more comfortable. Maybe if you try out a few and see if any of them 'click', it'll feel more easing on you going into it. Some charge a small fee, but I've also seen people who will do it for free. Therapists are just people, some are going to rub you the wrong way, some will do the opposite. Finding one who makes you the most comfortable seems especially important in your case, since I know you have high nerves about it. In order to best help yourself, it's good to realize that even if one therapist might not do much for you, that doesn't mean you're out of options. I had an old friend once who gave up after just having one, and based the entire concept of therapy off of only one counselor, which in the end, didn't do much good for him. I don't mean to sound assuming of how you're approaching this, and I apologize if I seem intrusive.

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