I know the saying, 'You are what you eat.' That is why people associate fat people with laziness and gluttonous and greediness.

I know, I am fat. But I was never lazy, and I never liked food. I was never fat to start of with. I was born a little chubby, but I lost the weight when I started going to preschool. My mother recalled me asking for slimming pills as a child. I never ate much anyway. Because I was the 'thin' one. In my mind I had to keep up with being thin, so I couldn't let myself step over that line. Whatever people ate, I ate only half the portion. It started when I turned 8, and I found parts of my body that was revolting like my stomach and my thighs. Things were cloudy then, I thought I was fat. But when I see the pictures now, I was like a skeleton. When you have no confidence, your self-esteem just becomes non-existent, and I went on like that until I entered secondary school.

I only got overweight when I was in secondary 2. Haha my classmates couldn't believe it when I got into TAF. Even people in TAF said I shouldn't be there. For me, going into TAF was rock bottom for me. I felt like I've let myself down, and had to embrace the fact that I was FAT for real. I worked really really hard to get out, and I was consumed by the world's obsession with weight. I remembered my mother commenting about my fat ass. My mum always took slimming pills. She's always saying how light she is. So that was when it happened.

I battled with bulimia. And this is the first time I've publicly declared this. But for me to make this real for myself, and for me to face recovery, I can't keep secrets about my past. I suffered with self-abuse.

Bulimia took its toll on me in secondary 3. I purge 3-5 times a day, I vomited out blood. Even during fasting month I would purge after breaking my fast. It was easy. The weight came off, and by the end of a month of fasting, I've lost 7 kilos. It was a vicious cycle of disgusting binges, purging, cutting, and exercise. That was my life. And that was all I knew. I battled with myself, and with god. How could he not make it easier for me, why did I have to purge out food to look like other girls?

I got dengue in sec 4, while I suffered with an eating disorder. But I thought it was great because my appetite was gone, I didn't eat anything for 2 weeks, besides the IV drip. I couldn't puke in the hospital. The disease weakened me physically, but inside I felt immense power. I felt powerful and in control. I didn’t have to eat. The doctors had to rush into my room in the night because my blood pressure was too low. But I didn't have to eat. It was empowerment. It was like defying god, and human capability.

When I was discharged I didn't have any appetite, and I still didn't want to eat that much. I was small. I looked sick. I was at my lowest weight. But I loved it. That was the first time I felt beautiful. But hell, it was tiring. I was tired all the time. You know, it was hard to breathe. It was tiring not to eat. And going home only to lock myself up in my room so I would not be in the kitchen. And to sleep with an empty stomach, waking up, looking at my wrists, looking at my ribs. It took so much of me. All I could do was weep, feel tired, waiting for it all to end.

And I had this big argument with my mother. She had gone through my things, she screamed at me, and she said she knew what I was doing. Then I screamed, cried, and had a panic attack. She had no compassion, her eyes were black and cold. It was as if she had sent me to my death.

It's a long story, about how I'm here finally. I've attempted suicide, and everything. One day I said, that's it. Slowly I stopped purging, but instead I over ate. I wanted to 'recover' and make it real. I created this wall of fat to protect me. Because I wasn't self-harming anymore, I channelled my pain and anger somewhere else. What you see now, is the product of a mad man. It wasn't because I was lazy to exercise. I didn't think I was worth it. I was destined to be fat, because that's what I really am. And the shame I felt for letting myself go. For a while, I hid myself at home and from the sun. I didn't 'recover', as I had thought. I just changed the fucking situation. No one wanted to hear me and I was alone. I felt like a failed experiment, and an object. An object that deserved food to be shoved in, like a rubbish chute. Because that was what I was. I was rubbish, I was crap, and I was a thing. This layer of fat is a barrier and to hide my ugliness.

What depresses me the most is that I'm still here. I haven't moved on. I haven't got an inch of self-esteem in me. I'm so frightened to take that step, and run under the sun, in full view of people. People would just go, 'what is this fat girl losing weight for? Hah, you are not worth the effort.' You know? Things like that. I've been battling my whole life alone. Now I have to try this alone. It's not that I want to be, but circumstances forces me to. I still want to die. I still need to weep for myself. I'm only one inch away from abusing myself. It's up to me to take that step. But how can I if I don't even believe it's possible?

Labels: depressing, dirt, fat