I’ve been a compulsive eater for as long as I can remember. I can remember being in trouble at 4 years old for eating all the chocolates in the house, but my problems spiralled out of control when I hit puberty. Partly due to the hormones I suppose, but mostly to do with the available cash I had from my paper round, all of which went on sweets until I started smoking a few years later lol.
My mother was as thin as a rake and that’s where the problems started. I really feel that if less emphasis had been put on my puppy fat as a child, I wouldn’t be over 20 stone now. Fat women were always pointed out to me with the promise that I’d end up like them if I didn’t stop eating. I was told I’d need to take more baths as fat people smell. That I couldn’t have long hair because it makes my face look fatter. At the time I was at the most, 10lbs overweight.
During my twenties I drank (a lot) which helped keep my weight down to a fairly acceptable level. But since hitting thirty I’ve gained at least 6 stone, especially since I left work last year. My day revolves around getting and eating food. I live on ready meals and snacks, despite loving healthy options and veg. The depression makes me so lazy and fatigued that just the thought of making a sandwich is too much for me a lot of the time so I buy preprepared food. Yet I have the energy each day to take a bus to my supermarket and buy binge food. So of course this fatigue is all in my head.
Today I was sent some photographs of myself taken recently on a day out. I barely recognised the woman in them. Huge arms. Rolls of fat and a disappearing chin. I look ten years older than I am. How did this happen without me realising? Perhaps because I refuse to have a full length mirror in the house.
Self harm scars can be hidden from most people. Drunkeness can often be explained away as socialising. But fat is seen by everyone. From the kids on the street who shout ”ugly cow” to the men in the pub who push their friend into you and shout ”she’s yours” whilst they all laugh.
Yes I eat too much. No I don’t exercise. Yes it’s my fault. God I know all that. But when you see that fatty on the street, stop to think for a second. Would anyone who was happy really let themselves get into that state? From the moment I wake up I panic about where I can get food from. I’m sat here right now obsessing about the indian food in my fridge. I’ve tried Weightwatchers, National Slimming Centres, Atkins, Caveman diet. I’ve tried swimming until someone laughed at me. I’ve tried exercise dvd’s at home but just can’t motivate myself. Every time I attempt to restrict my binges the urge to cut comes back ten times worse. So I have a choice between scars or fat. Hobsons choice. I wish I could starve myself.