just a blip on the radar

[photo reblogged, writing my own]

TRIGGER WARNING: talk of control problems, emotional neglect and abuse

I used to think that ‘attractive’ and ‘beautiful’ required us to be skinny, small, demure, somewhat shy, and not very outspoken. So I would struggle with controlling my weight, my food intake, and myself. My whole modus operandi was control—because I felt like my life was so out of control that all I could do to prevent losing my grip was to become ultra-controlling of everything. I even stopped talking about my feelings, and lied to everyone for years about everything, even the slightest thing.

My mother taught me how to lie, because she would get angry and ground me if I ever expressed thoughts and feelings that she didn’t 110% like. I was literally grounded for 80% of my middle and high school careers.

I kept my feelings to myself, and cried myself to sleep every night. I started having horrible nightmares when I went to sleep, which was rare. I started having auditory hallucinations that at one point were so loud and frightening that I wished I could jump in front of traffic just to make them stop.

I started dissociating from everything around me, and threw myself into self-destructive behaviors to remind myself that I was indeed still alive. The empty feeling in my stomach was a constant reminder of my mortality. I kept that empty, nagging feeling for years. I cried myself to sleep for years. I lied to my family and friends for years. 

And it all started when I was 10. I was a “chubby” kid growing up, went through my first period at a very young age. Kids would make fun of me being “fat” at school, and one day was particularly cruel. I came home and got off the bus crying, and told my mom what happened. Without any consolation, she said “it’s your fault you’re fat.” It was then that I realized that I couldn’t ever share my feelings and my struggles with my mother again. I also didn’t trust my stepfather, because when I was 5 I called him “daddy” and he told me “I’m not your father and I never will be.” I was alone.

I never did learn how to eat right. My mother never taught me, because she had her own problems with anorexia (that she wouldn’t admit). Yet, it was apparently ‘my fault I was fat.’ How could that be? How could she be so cruel?

I was made to grow up quickly and was an emotional orphan by the age of 10.

(Source: imperfection-makes-us-perfect, via su-ic-id-al)