How I've Been Lately

I sit here not even really sure how to start this. It's a bit creepy-fate like that it's been almost a full year since I've last used my blog. And I have so much to say, so much to release in this post that I don't really know how to put it all down, or if I'll manage to get it all, or whether it'll make sense. I'm certainly not the most eloquent writer of all time. But I've kept a lot concealed for so long.

Part of me already wants to stop writing. Just put my laptop away and go to sleep. Because I feel like nobody will believe this is coming from me. That anyone who, on the off chance, reads this and knows who I am will think that I'm making it up, seeking attention. And I don't feel like defending myself about all this. These past few months have been hell.

I've never liked who I am. Not once. I've always felt average; could be smarter, could work harder, could be nicer, friendlier, funnier, prettier. Thinner. If my personality shortcomings weren't enough, I've always felt plagued with a hideous body that no-one would want to see past in order to get to my somewhat bland persona. In my younger years I was made fun of by my family, no less, who would tell me how "chubby" or "ugly" I was. I guess they found it okay because they have such thick exteriors and banter with each other like that even now. But I'm so much more fragile than they are, and they've never even taken the time to notice.

On a side note, I've always resented my family a little, but especially my mother, and even more so now. Especially after Dad passed, I've felt completely unsupported by her. But that's nothing new. I distinctly remember the time I got 100% on my math test (that slightly embarrassing time when the teacher made everyone stand up and clap for me...), telling her, and merely saying "Well it's the only way is down from there". At least with Dad around there was someone who was really proud of me and not afraid/ashamed to say it. Someone who actually encouraged me to do better.

And so over the holidays I worked on myself, felt better, healthier, proud of what I achieved. And I felt a kind of happiness I never really felt before. Being able to fit into the same clothes as my friends, not feeling as much disbelief when I sensed a guy looking at me (and not because I was fat), being physically fit and actually enjoying exercise - definitely not something I'd ever thought I'd experience. But this feeling of actually enjoying being me didn't last long.

I think it was partially due to an inability to settle for 'good enough', but a lot to do with the people around me. The ones that hardly knew me, telling me I was too thin. The same family that called me chubby years before were now calling me too skinny. The mother that said it was disgusting and would call a psychologist if I kept it up. And for the record, I'll make it clear that I never reached a weight that would be considered unhealthy. But the self-image that I loathed so much all my life, that I worked on so much in order to give me the confidence I should have had through high school (I can't express how many times during those six years that I said to myself "If I was skinnier...", and how many opportunities I would have taken), was still abhorrent in the eyes of everyone else.

It wasn't just the notion that the people closest to me were less than enthused about my physical appearance, but the hidden implications behind their accusations. I felt as if they just assumed I'd gone about it unhealthily, that I was starving myself or exercising too much. That because I'm young there's no way I could have done this properly. I feel like nobody in my family takes me seriously and they're all intent on sabotage; I was becoming stronger and they felt like I needed to be knocked down a few pegs. And knocked down I was.

I began eating until I felt physically sick. I'd vow to never do it again. I'd wake up, exercise, and then do it all over again. This crappy binging cycle became such a habit to me. Is still a habit. And what makes me really angry and upset is knowing I have a parent who watches it happen, and not only doesn't say or do anything to stop me, but encourages it. Who dangles unhealthy food in front of me and my weakening sense of self-control. My lack of discipline and feelings of being out of control were making me feel awful, and naturally I began putting on weight, which made me feel worse.

These past few months I don't think I've ever felt worse about myself. I stopped hanging out with friends, making any excuse I could think of so people wouldn't have to see me, and I didn't go to uni unless I absolutely had to. I kept my head down and avoided places where I thought people from school might see me. I remember going shopping with Mum and almost having a small panic attack in the car and trying to hold back tears because we almost went to the Galleria on a Thursday night and I knew the chances were high I'd run into someone.

And so it's no surprise that I've been feeling so alone. That's my fault. But so many times I've wanted someone to ring me and ask if I'm okay. I've felt like everyone just assumes that I'm always fine, that I'm not someone to worry about. My (so-called) best guy friend asked me to come with him because another friend wasn't handling a break-up well, and whilst I was sincerely empathetic for her, a part of me still wondered why there were no-one coming to my rescue. I've had bouts of crying uncontrollably during the day and crying myself to sleep at night, hurting myself and temporarily turning to drastic measures in a sad attempt to feel better (all of which goes unnoticed by my mother).

I've sort of come to realise that I'm not a great entity in anyone's life. I'd be missed but I'm quite clearly replaceable. I sit here now in the same state physically as I was last year, maybe worse, but now mentally exhausted. It feels crap to know with all the friends you have, there's only one that hasn't totally given up on me as a person. But then you feel really stupid because you want to tell them everything that's been going on but you can't because if there's anything worse for you than being fat, it's being a failure. And I feel like the fact that I was an inspiration to some (albeit, few) is a complete and utter joke now. And then we come full circle to the fact that no-one would believe this coming out of my mouth. That everyone will just think I'm being superficial.

So I wrote this. To say that I'm not okay. I don't even know what this will achieve because I don't think anyone will read it anyway. But maybe, in getting it out of my head, I can turn myself around.