My whole life, I figured she can't have been that bad until just before I was born and so he couldn't take it and left. She said he was a bad man. But she was a bad Mum. She said he couldn't take it when things got tough. She was down the pub every weekend ever since I was seven, ditching me with a three year old Becca. She said he would have hated us. She also had said I smelt horrible and needed to shower or she would puke, when I had thrown up the food I just ate because I couldn't stand the thought of it in my stomach - Obviously she didn't know I'd just chucked up, but still. It still felt like she was purposely smashing up every little piece of self worth I had attained and not thrown away when I threw everything else up. Still, I never stuck my fingers down my throat again though, so, thanks mum.
What if I hadn't been so ignorant – got help at the early stages? But then, I didn't realise at all. What if anyone had cared and actually pointed it out in the hope of helping me? But then, no one cared. Avoiding this seems impossible. Bullying was probably a main cause but I don't think there's a reason that I could have been prescribed pills to help with. It was pretty inevitable, the way my life was going. My mum hated my life as much as I did, and she didn't have to live it! So she tried again and actually got her perfect little girl.
Well, at least I know my dads alive and they were married at the time.
I used to think my mum might have been okay at some point in time and would turn back to being a great, loving mum. I blamed here rubbishness on Dad leaving. But on the times that was clearly a fairytale idea, I knew where I was but not where he was. Now I know where he is but not where I am.
Thing was I never realized my size. Never had a proper judgement that wasn't laughing. Am I just stupid or is there something wrong with me? I never saw it till now. I saw distorted images of pounds clinging from my sides, laughing and laughing - like everybody else.
When I was nine, I was six and a half stone. Yes, I know, I was BIG. So the fat jokes came as I grew up. It was only for two years, but it came from everybody, including my Mum, especially my mum. Years go so slowly when every day people would laugh at something I was trying so hard to change. Every second soaked in sadness – to quote the hero himself. Music. Lyrics. Sometimes- a lot of the time - it felt like the artists and their words where more real and genuine than most of the people around me. Cliché, but true. Still wont change, even now.
More and more, and as we got older, they 'jokes' got worse. Fat, Jacob. Worthless, Jacob. I picked up a blade a few times – yes, a nine/ten year old trying, wanting to self-harm. The 'jokes' got more frequent especially when I thought I was doing well and it got more and more tempting.
But I never did it. I felt I couldn't even do that. Attention-seeker, Jacob. Weirdo, Jacob. No one would have known, but I would have, and I felt judged. Every spared glance my way, my mind created a situation of how they would know and what they would say and how I would get even more judged.
Only now I can see it might not have been that bad and the jokes got worse later because I was already normal weight again – I think.
At the time, all I wanted was to get 'un-fat', but I knew I couldn't cut it off with a knife. I knew that wouldn't help. Sometimes I did loose my head and look for ways. Ways to do anything other than what I was doing. Anything other than what made me happy – which wasn't and isn't much. I didn't deserver happiness. What? I know that was crazy now, but then... 10 years of life and I was already sick of it. I wasn't suicidal exactly. Just mad at myself for getting like that.
So, I guess that's how it started. I told everyone I was dieting, but really I just stopped eating almost entirely. I didn't eat at school and at minimal amounts at home to keep mum of my case- not that she cared. When I started to get stomach aches and pains, I took it as a good sign. I thought it meant it was all working and it would be worth it. Even the swellings were okay, my overall goal marred my thinking. I became like a crazed businessman, determined to get what I wanted.
When I changed school, age 11, I didn't know why, but the fat jokes stopped. I was so confused, sure and terrified it was going to get so much worse. Utterly convinced I was so overweight and I should be embarrassed. Now I'm 15 and still can't stand looking in the mirror, I still do it though, all the time. I guess it's obsessive. I can't stop. Reflections I see are unattractive worthlessness. Wastes of spaces. Sometimes, the best times, I imagined I was so worthless I disappeared and all I saw was a blank reflection in an empty room.
It was me that was empty, not the room...:
Depression's another symptom of anorexia.
Along with dying; I guess that's more of an effect.