Suppressed Memories

I've been thinking a lot lately. Mostly trying to figure out how to accept and love myself, truly. I feel in order to do this, I need to go back to my childhood and live through some of those things I've chosen to hide from. No matter what it was, I used food to not feel it. When I was little, I was always left alone, taking care of my sister, or at my grandmothers house sitting on her couch watching jeopardy. I used food as a way to cure boredom, and my family used it as a way to say I love you. When my dad came home drunk late at night, after leaving us at my crazy grandmothers all night, he would get us a pizza. To me, food became love. It was the only thing I had to take me away from how sad and lonely my life was. I spent years sitting on my grandmothers couch for hours after school, not allowed to leave the house and because she was a hoarder, there was no space for us to play. When I was about 12 and my parents divorced, my mom felt I was old enough to watch my sister, so I now became caregiver. I had to cook the meals, and while my mom did the best she could, it was always something frozen or out of a can. I never learned about nutrition, or health and because we were alone, I wasn't allowed to leave the house, so there was little time to get exercise.

My sister and I were always alone. But instead of supporting each other, we grew to hate each other. I guess that's what happens when you're both so angry with your life, and you know there's nothing you can do about it, you start to reject the only person you have. I grew heavier and heavier, and was tormented at school. Of course I became the chubby girl, but that was only the start. We were extremely poor, and I had very few clothes to wear, almost all of them used. We didn't have a shower, and no one was ever home to encourage me to take a bath. So I also became the smelly kid. I very rarely got to play with other kids my age, so I became extremely introverted. I tried to skip school so I wouldn't be tormented and when I was there, no one even knew who I was. I can't remember the exact age that I knew I wanted to kill myself, probably because it's been something I've felt all my life. I know people say that children have a great sense of innocence, but I honestly can't remember a time I felt that. I knew we were poor, I knew I was fat, I knew that the other children didn't like me, and I knew my father was an alcoholic. I saw no way out of the pathetic life I was born into.

Eventually my mother remarried when I was 15, and we were able to afford things for the first time in my life. I had new clothes and made a friend who was different from the few friends I had before. She was extremely concerned with her appearance, and I started to be consumed with mine as well. It was at this age that I first started to restrict what I was eating. By the time I was 16, I was starving myself. I spent every day of my life obsessing about my appearance. So now, instead of eating to avoid my sadness, I was not eating. It was the only thing in my life that I had control over, and it made me feel powerful. My eating disorder gave me a purpose. I lived for becoming thinner and proving to my family and the kids at school that I existed.

When I look back on the pictures from this time, I see a beautifully thin girl who is covered in sadness. I was only living to be thin, and that was barely sustaining me. My home life continued to be full of pain and criticism. My step father was loud and did not understand me. He was constantly putting me down and arguing me right out of my confidence. And to make it worse, I was now blessed with two step brothers, both of which lived to torment me. I was made fun of, and called fat dozen of times each day. My younger step brother hated me because I was someone he wanted before our parents got married and now had to call me his sister. He tortured me both mentally and physically. He grabbed at my clothes when I passed him, gave me wedges to the point of pain, and if I stood up to him, he was known to punch the wind out of me. There were various times throughout my years living in their home, that the police were called because my step brother had tried to hurt me.

I try not to hate my mother for this, but I do. I hate her for being so weak and claiming she was strong. She will tell me she did all she could to survive. She let me live in hell, and she continues to lack ownership. I love my mother and I understand her weaknesses, but she let me die in those years I spent in that home. Coming back to that home she still shares with my step father, is a reminder of the 6 years of my life that I lived a life of daily depression.

Today, I live trying to escape the first 21 years of my life that I lived with her. Those years where I felt I had no control over my decisions. The years I spent every day of my life wishing I could die. I need to accept that pain, and believe that it occurred to allow me the understanding of human behavior and to show me that I can survive. It is so difficult for me to love myself, because everyone in my life up to this point has always left me in some way. While my mother has always been present, she has never supported me or trusted me to make the right decisions. I fear everything. I fear my failures, and have continued to live a life that I never wanted. Food has been my best friend. I am ready to be my best friend, and let food be what sustains me, in the most healthy of ways. I want to be conscious of why I choose what I eat, and why I continue to punish myself for mistakes that weren't mine. My most amazing accomplishment in life will be to love myself. To see myself the way I am, and believe, TRULY, that this is who I was meant to be. That through all the pain and rejection, there is someone worth living for.