I'm turning this into a weight loss blog yet again (Day 1). - History
"I've screwed up today anyway; I've failed once more - I'll start again tomorrow." Or next week. Or next month. After Christmas. January 1. In Spring. Once I move to England. Once I move to Canada. Once I move to the U.S. Once I go back to Germany. Once I'm an adult. Once I finish high school. Once I finish uni. By the time I'm 21. By the time I'm 25. Or tomorrow.
This has been my thinking, constantly, for the past years. Of course, tomorrow is never significantly different from today, and moving to another place doesn't magically change who you are. Growing up doesn't mean you're suddenly this categorically different, wise person who's got all the answers. The painful realisation that no one else seems to have them, either, hits home slowly. Change occurs through hard work, and often through painful events. Positive change is never just "there".
But this time, I tell myself, this time it's going to be different. This time, it's going to last. This time, I won't fail. I tell myself this, knowing I have to believe it for change to occur because this is what I have been told, but I don't quite believe in it. I can't, because experience has taught me otherwise. And so, the cycle begins again. I must step outside and leave it. No more excuses. No more "all or nothing" approaches. This is about lasting, lifelong change. And as positive as that should sound, as excited as I should be about it, it's also damn scary. "If you're not a fat girl" a voice in my head says, "and no one loves you still, that means there's something wrong with your character." "It's better not to get involved in the world of real humans, the skinny people world, because all that relationship nonsense is hurtful." "If I have this eating issue, I can concentrate on that and not focus on all the other mess." (These are called "secondary gains", I am told.) It's a depressing thought to consider what I will have to give up for my new life, and the gains seem too unrealistic, too intangible at this point. But it must, must be possible. This can't just be "yet another attempt", this has to be it. Because I want it to be.
For as long as I can remember, I have been unhappy with my body. I remember standing in front of the mirror for ages as a young child, upset because I thought I looked like a boy, upset because I wanted curly hair, annoyed with my faded hair colour, my big stomach, my nose. I'm so young in some of these memories that I don't think it can be anyone's "fault" as such. I was simply an introverted, slightly obsessive child. I didn't want to have my photograph taken in kindergarten. I have always been concerned with appearances. My mum told me that when I was a year old, my grandma thought I shouldn't wear cotton tights because they made me look fat. She kept reminding me of this story as a reminder that your weight is always the first thing people will notice about you. ALWAYS. "You can be as clever as you want and achieve as much as you want, it won't matter as long as you're fat. That's always the single most important thing people will notice about you. I'm not saying that's fair or that it should be this way; I'm only telling you things as they really are. Do you want me to lie to you?" I was never to wear "disadvantageous" clothes as a non-delicate, stout little girl, back when I was chubby and not fat. I became fat pretty quickly though in school, and so I guess that fulfilled the worst fears. I also knew that everything my mother had taught me about my appearance ("you could be so pretty if you were skinny, it's a shame"), resulting from her dissatisfaction with her own appearance, was true. My grandparents favoured the skinny cousins, and people in public generally used to point at fat kids. I didn't make friends in school, and obviously the fat kid is bullied. I am not saying this in an "oh, woe me" kind of way, but it is simply the way things are, and it serves to highlight my primary thinking error over the years: That everything bad in the world happened simply because I was fat.
At 23, I can recognise that that's not entirely true. I do occasionally see overweight adults who are in romantic relationships, even in this country, I do have great friends now, and I always had good grades even though I was fat. I have, so far, not been generally unsuccessful in life. I know now that part of my problems were probably due to my extreme anxiety and "easy victim" personality as a kid. I know that my mother could have been just as unhappy with me if I had been skinny, because she was generally unhappy. I know that not everything in the world goes wrong simply because I am fat. I know that I am an adult now. Rationally, I know that. But somewhere inside, there's still the hurt kid who flinches at the sound of a door closing and is afraid to walk past a group of teenagers because they might shout something at me, who nervously tugs at her shirt so it doesn't slide around. A big part of me, even though I am an adult, still gets angry when the first thing my mum says to me when she sees me is either "you've gained weight" or "you've lost weight" (unless she is criticising what I'm wearing), and a part of me still blames her for giving me sweets to stop me from crying when she and my dad were arguing and for not intervening when he went on one of his rage outbursts.
However, I must recognise that I am an adult and completely and entirely responsible for my own actions. Only I control what I eat. What has come before does not matter. I had a pretty nice childhood, and loads of people with far worse childhoods do not develop eating issues. It is my fault that I look like this. How did I let it get so far? I believe I am currently at my highest weight ever - not that I've checked since January. How did I let it get to a point where I hate to look in the mirror yet obsessively do it, where I spend so much money on food, where I binge and then feel guilty and then binge again? How did I get to a point where I think about food all the time, where it is the only nice thing in the day and the only thing I truly desire? How did I get so responsive to food stimuli in the environment that it feels like an addiction, and once my barriers break I need more and more?
In my mind, there have always been two worlds. The ordinary world, and the world of the fat people. Being fat, I obviously hold the worst prejudices against fat people or otherwise I would like myself. The ordinary people could have all the normal stuff they wanted. The fat people can't. The ordinary people can fall in love, the fat people will never be loved. The ordinary people can dance in public, the fat people can but they'll always be regarded as silly. The ordinary people can have a full range of emotions and be taken seriously, the fat people can only ever be the comic relief in any story. The ordinary people can be weak and cry. Fat people can't. They look pathetic when they do. The ordinary people can work on the career they want. The fat people can't, because most sensible employers won't hire them. The ordinary people can eat when they're hungry and stop when they're full. The fat people can't. The ordinary people can say "no". The fat people find it extremely difficult. The ordinary people can be the more "desirable" person in a friendship and be selective. The fat people will have to be grateful for every piece of affection they get. The ordinary people will be well-liked. The fat people won't be. The ordinary people will look vulnerable, in need for protection. The fat people won't. Fat people can never have a genuine problem, no matter how big it is, because they'll never be seen as these vulnerable, pretty fairy creatures. Fat women will never be "real women", because real women are the type who look like they might faint and will have to be caught by a prince (trust me, I hate expressing this stupid stereotype, but deep down it's how I think). Ordinary people can be sexy. Fat people can't. Ordinary people can feel entitled or put themselves first. Fat people can't. Ordinary people are strong and disciplined, admirable. Fat people aren't.
etc.
I know the horrible effects of anorexia, but I have secretly wished I had it. I secretly admire the self-discipline and control. Being so in control. I don't really wish I had it. I just wish I had something "diagnosable" so there would be some sort of scientifically studied solution for it. I wish there were a label so I wouldn't just be a "fat failure", as I know I am.
I wanted someone to see how unhappy I was. I cut myself in the past, but not because it truly helped but because I thought then I would "really have something wrong" with me. I went to counselling at one point after my dad's death but never, not once, mentioned my eating issue. I was too ashamed and embarassed, and there were a whole lot of other problems going on at that time.
In short, I feel like my entire future, my everything depends upon success in this endeavor. I do not see a future for a "fat person", as superficial, hateful, bigoted and mean as that might be. Everything, my lifelong hopes and dreams, have been attached to being skinny. Now, I'd settle for being any kind of normal weight. I know I will never have smooth skin even if I do lose the weight. It's too late for that. I know I'll never be superskinny or one of those porcelain girls who I've always perceived as "real women". But real women come in different bodies. I have to learn to accept that so I can succeed at this attempt. I have to stop thinking like a bullied 13-year-old and mature. I have to learn to leave things behind and to let things go. I have to learn that it isn't "all or nothing", and that people aren't perfect. Otherwise, I am being ungrateful and depriving myself of so many experiences.
I need to learn that I can't always be waiting to become a real person, but that I am a real person, that my experiences so far have been real and colourful, and that I am living. Otherwise, I'll wonder once again "where have the years gone"?
The one time where I lost weight and was most successful in lasting change was that year I spent studying abroad, away from family and everything. Ironically, it was also the time when I was least compulsive about it and generally happy. It was the time when I was least concerned with "only skinny people have real lives". That should teach me something.
I am hereby taking responsibility and taking myself seriously. I am not worthless, and in fact I won't be any more worthless if I have setbacks at this. My worth does not depend upon my weight. But I do owe it to myself to pursue my lifelong, my most desperate goal. After all, I have managed in other areas.
I can do this.
This has been my thinking, constantly, for the past years. Of course, tomorrow is never significantly different from today, and moving to another place doesn't magically change who you are. Growing up doesn't mean you're suddenly this categorically different, wise person who's got all the answers. The painful realisation that no one else seems to have them, either, hits home slowly. Change occurs through hard work, and often through painful events. Positive change is never just "there".
But this time, I tell myself, this time it's going to be different. This time, it's going to last. This time, I won't fail. I tell myself this, knowing I have to believe it for change to occur because this is what I have been told, but I don't quite believe in it. I can't, because experience has taught me otherwise. And so, the cycle begins again. I must step outside and leave it. No more excuses. No more "all or nothing" approaches. This is about lasting, lifelong change. And as positive as that should sound, as excited as I should be about it, it's also damn scary. "If you're not a fat girl" a voice in my head says, "and no one loves you still, that means there's something wrong with your character." "It's better not to get involved in the world of real humans, the skinny people world, because all that relationship nonsense is hurtful." "If I have this eating issue, I can concentrate on that and not focus on all the other mess." (These are called "secondary gains", I am told.) It's a depressing thought to consider what I will have to give up for my new life, and the gains seem too unrealistic, too intangible at this point. But it must, must be possible. This can't just be "yet another attempt", this has to be it. Because I want it to be.
For as long as I can remember, I have been unhappy with my body. I remember standing in front of the mirror for ages as a young child, upset because I thought I looked like a boy, upset because I wanted curly hair, annoyed with my faded hair colour, my big stomach, my nose. I'm so young in some of these memories that I don't think it can be anyone's "fault" as such. I was simply an introverted, slightly obsessive child. I didn't want to have my photograph taken in kindergarten. I have always been concerned with appearances. My mum told me that when I was a year old, my grandma thought I shouldn't wear cotton tights because they made me look fat. She kept reminding me of this story as a reminder that your weight is always the first thing people will notice about you. ALWAYS. "You can be as clever as you want and achieve as much as you want, it won't matter as long as you're fat. That's always the single most important thing people will notice about you. I'm not saying that's fair or that it should be this way; I'm only telling you things as they really are. Do you want me to lie to you?" I was never to wear "disadvantageous" clothes as a non-delicate, stout little girl, back when I was chubby and not fat. I became fat pretty quickly though in school, and so I guess that fulfilled the worst fears. I also knew that everything my mother had taught me about my appearance ("you could be so pretty if you were skinny, it's a shame"), resulting from her dissatisfaction with her own appearance, was true. My grandparents favoured the skinny cousins, and people in public generally used to point at fat kids. I didn't make friends in school, and obviously the fat kid is bullied. I am not saying this in an "oh, woe me" kind of way, but it is simply the way things are, and it serves to highlight my primary thinking error over the years: That everything bad in the world happened simply because I was fat.
At 23, I can recognise that that's not entirely true. I do occasionally see overweight adults who are in romantic relationships, even in this country, I do have great friends now, and I always had good grades even though I was fat. I have, so far, not been generally unsuccessful in life. I know now that part of my problems were probably due to my extreme anxiety and "easy victim" personality as a kid. I know that my mother could have been just as unhappy with me if I had been skinny, because she was generally unhappy. I know that not everything in the world goes wrong simply because I am fat. I know that I am an adult now. Rationally, I know that. But somewhere inside, there's still the hurt kid who flinches at the sound of a door closing and is afraid to walk past a group of teenagers because they might shout something at me, who nervously tugs at her shirt so it doesn't slide around. A big part of me, even though I am an adult, still gets angry when the first thing my mum says to me when she sees me is either "you've gained weight" or "you've lost weight" (unless she is criticising what I'm wearing), and a part of me still blames her for giving me sweets to stop me from crying when she and my dad were arguing and for not intervening when he went on one of his rage outbursts.
However, I must recognise that I am an adult and completely and entirely responsible for my own actions. Only I control what I eat. What has come before does not matter. I had a pretty nice childhood, and loads of people with far worse childhoods do not develop eating issues. It is my fault that I look like this. How did I let it get so far? I believe I am currently at my highest weight ever - not that I've checked since January. How did I let it get to a point where I hate to look in the mirror yet obsessively do it, where I spend so much money on food, where I binge and then feel guilty and then binge again? How did I get to a point where I think about food all the time, where it is the only nice thing in the day and the only thing I truly desire? How did I get so responsive to food stimuli in the environment that it feels like an addiction, and once my barriers break I need more and more?
In my mind, there have always been two worlds. The ordinary world, and the world of the fat people. Being fat, I obviously hold the worst prejudices against fat people or otherwise I would like myself. The ordinary people could have all the normal stuff they wanted. The fat people can't. The ordinary people can fall in love, the fat people will never be loved. The ordinary people can dance in public, the fat people can but they'll always be regarded as silly. The ordinary people can have a full range of emotions and be taken seriously, the fat people can only ever be the comic relief in any story. The ordinary people can be weak and cry. Fat people can't. They look pathetic when they do. The ordinary people can work on the career they want. The fat people can't, because most sensible employers won't hire them. The ordinary people can eat when they're hungry and stop when they're full. The fat people can't. The ordinary people can say "no". The fat people find it extremely difficult. The ordinary people can be the more "desirable" person in a friendship and be selective. The fat people will have to be grateful for every piece of affection they get. The ordinary people will be well-liked. The fat people won't be. The ordinary people will look vulnerable, in need for protection. The fat people won't. Fat people can never have a genuine problem, no matter how big it is, because they'll never be seen as these vulnerable, pretty fairy creatures. Fat women will never be "real women", because real women are the type who look like they might faint and will have to be caught by a prince (trust me, I hate expressing this stupid stereotype, but deep down it's how I think). Ordinary people can be sexy. Fat people can't. Ordinary people can feel entitled or put themselves first. Fat people can't. Ordinary people are strong and disciplined, admirable. Fat people aren't.
etc.
I know the horrible effects of anorexia, but I have secretly wished I had it. I secretly admire the self-discipline and control. Being so in control. I don't really wish I had it. I just wish I had something "diagnosable" so there would be some sort of scientifically studied solution for it. I wish there were a label so I wouldn't just be a "fat failure", as I know I am.
I wanted someone to see how unhappy I was. I cut myself in the past, but not because it truly helped but because I thought then I would "really have something wrong" with me. I went to counselling at one point after my dad's death but never, not once, mentioned my eating issue. I was too ashamed and embarassed, and there were a whole lot of other problems going on at that time.
In short, I feel like my entire future, my everything depends upon success in this endeavor. I do not see a future for a "fat person", as superficial, hateful, bigoted and mean as that might be. Everything, my lifelong hopes and dreams, have been attached to being skinny. Now, I'd settle for being any kind of normal weight. I know I will never have smooth skin even if I do lose the weight. It's too late for that. I know I'll never be superskinny or one of those porcelain girls who I've always perceived as "real women". But real women come in different bodies. I have to learn to accept that so I can succeed at this attempt. I have to stop thinking like a bullied 13-year-old and mature. I have to learn to leave things behind and to let things go. I have to learn that it isn't "all or nothing", and that people aren't perfect. Otherwise, I am being ungrateful and depriving myself of so many experiences.
I need to learn that I can't always be waiting to become a real person, but that I am a real person, that my experiences so far have been real and colourful, and that I am living. Otherwise, I'll wonder once again "where have the years gone"?
The one time where I lost weight and was most successful in lasting change was that year I spent studying abroad, away from family and everything. Ironically, it was also the time when I was least compulsive about it and generally happy. It was the time when I was least concerned with "only skinny people have real lives". That should teach me something.
I am hereby taking responsibility and taking myself seriously. I am not worthless, and in fact I won't be any more worthless if I have setbacks at this. My worth does not depend upon my weight. But I do owe it to myself to pursue my lifelong, my most desperate goal. After all, I have managed in other areas.
I can do this.