Bad Company

It's not fair.
But I guess that's life. I mean, right? Life is definitely not fair. People die before their time, are hungry and living on the streets, are dealt cards that they can't handle. Why am I fat? Why can't I be smart? Why doesn't anyone care?
Because life isn't fair.

I guess I've known that my whole life, I just didn't want to believe it when I was little. But still, there it stayed in the back of my mind, haunting my thoughts, tormenting me every day.

I've never really been comfortable with myself, even when I was young.
Like most little kids, I tried to do as I was told you should when in need of guidance-- I told my mom. Unlike other little kids, I was shot down. I was told that I wasn't really feeling these things. My insecurities were swept under the carpet. So from the time I was very young, I'd been playing one big game of pretend. Instead of sharing how I really felt, I plastered on a smile, laughed, and bared the burden of everyone else's problems.

And of course through all this I was expected to be perfect. To do everything right, to get the good grades, certainly to behave perfectly. It wasn't until recently that I acknowledged Ed was with me, but I suppose he was with me from the start. 'Eat this. It'll make everything feel better. I promise' Which probably clearly explains my attraction to food as a child. My nanny would make me things to eat, or I'd find food, and just eat. Even if I wasn't hungry. I'd eat and feel ashamed after I'd finished eating, then repeat the process.

And so went the tale, until the 4th grade or so, when things really began to heat up.

In the 4th grade, weight really became an issue.

I didn't want to go to class because I was so insecure about myself. Even though I had lots of friends, and was known by everyone at the school, I was unhappy. My nanny would try different things, trying to get me to school and, for a while, I fought with everything I had. But then I realized what a hassle I was being, so I stopped fighting, and just went with it. I was already a burden to my parents, I didn't want to be my nanny's burden too.

During 4th and 5th grade I ate regularly, hating myself each time. I couldn't figure out why I felt so awful, but it was ripping me apart on the inside. On the outside there I sat, a big smile on my face with a hug and a 'hello' for anyone who wanted one.

Starting in the 6th grade, I started eating more and more irregularly. Skipping meals, eating very little and then eating huge amounts to compensate. I was stressed, and felt horrible about myself. Each new day was the new worst day of my life. But I put on a happy face, just like every other day, and went about making sure everyone knew how happy and put together I was.

In the summer before 9th grade, my depression and my problem with food got worse. I tried to tell my mom that I wasn't doing so well; I tried to tell her how depressed I was, how sometimes I would cut and scratch myself, how overwhelmed I felt. And lo and behold, there she was, denying it again. Just like every other time, she was shaking her head, claiming me to be a liar. She got so pissed at me, and we got in a fight. She could clearly see where I cut myself, and she chose to ignore it. She screamed at me and called me names, telling me what a spoiled, selfish little brat I was, telling me how ungrateful and awful I was. Yelling at me to go live with my best friend, if I loved her and her mom so much.

After that I decided that it didn't matter what I went through. I wasn't going to try and tell anyone anymore. I was reserved. I started high school, made friends, got along with my teachers. I stopped eating all together. I would chew sugar free gum and consume no more than 100 calories a day. I would fill my body with water so I didn't feel so hungry. I was miserable, but I kept it together. I turned in my work, I tried to keep getting great grades.
I was doing fine.

And then, one day, I wasn't.

I don't know what it was, but something snapped. I refused to go to school. Every day I stayed home, and I never left my room. I didn't talk, and I most certainly didn't eat. My mom was so fucking pissed at me. She kept screaming at me to stop being so stupid, to just eat. She kept telling me I was driving myself crazy. My dad tried to make me get out of my room. He sent me to class at the college with my sister one day. Another, he gave me money, ordering me to go shopping and buy as many new clothes as I wanted. I didn't go.
My mom started force feeding me KFC, and all those other fattening foods. I hated it.

My amazing health teacher got in touch with me and talked to me about what was going on. She didn't make me tell her anything. She just talked to me. She explained how much everyone in class missed me, and how they kept asking about me. She had me write down what I was feeling, she made me feel comfortable about going back to school. She is one of the most amazing people I have ever met to this day, and even though none of you know her, I'm gonna take this moment to thank her. Thank you K! I love, love, love you! You saved me in more ways than one when you called me that day!

After talking with my teacher, I tried really hard to gain enough strength to pull through and start going to school again. My mom decided to get me into therapy.

When I made the decision to go back to school is when I changed my game plan.

Instead of not eating at all, I ate again. Not really breakfast, and rarely lunch, but dinner. Dinner I ate.

And then I purged.