Since I started writing about it I figured I'd finish. It started when I was 7 years old. My family and I had moved to VA because of the Army (my dad was off to Germany) and we were staying with my godmother. My godfather was my dad's best Army buddy. She was white and German and we were (are) Black and American. They had a three level house which included a basement. I am still scared of basements to this day. I recall her following me down there, on the days I wasn't wise enough to avoid her all together. She would slither up to me and comment on how I looked pregnant and how fat and lazy I was. At 7 years old. I was fat. I know I was. I must have been for her to hate me so much. I remember wearing husky clothes and looking like a roly poly. I desprately needed to please her. I am adopted (I've always known) and part of me still thinks about how my birth parents didn't want me. I am very happy with my parents even my dad I guess, but it lingers in my mind. My birth parents didn't want me and my godmother--the one who was to protect me if my parents were hurt--thought I was a disgusting waste of space. So I dieted. Every day for 2 weeks I would only eat pears, white bread and crackers. Carb city! But it worked. I started to lose weight and I felt better. My godmother took the time to comment--telling me I looked like I had lost weight and was now pregnant with a cantaloupe instead of a watermelon. I was crushed and more determined than ever. After we got our own house my days after school were spent running home, getting a bowl and plastic baggie filled with cereal and milk and hiding under the covers reading baby sitter club books or stories like "lisa bright and dark". After eating us out of house and home one too many times, I was sent to the first of a few babysitters. This one was crafty. She would take the door knobs off the door and turn them around. This way when she left us in the house a lone (every day) she could lock us in a bedroom and not worry about us burning down the house (or eating or going to the bathroom.) my co-babysitt-ee was smart too and we found the key and after a couple weeks we had a system down. Wait 5 minutes, unlock the door. Eat and go to the bathroom, then lock ourselves back in. Brilliant. She also would take the food our parents brought for us and give it to her kids and make us eat generic crap right in front of them. All my memories are of food. My depression hit hard as I entered adolescence. My first and most real suicide attempt was at age 13. I swallowed pills, nail polish remover, lotion (!?) and waited for something to happen. Then I got scared as I felt a little weird. So I at dinner with the family (Pizza hut peperoni pan pizza with salad with ranch dressing and bread sticks.) I ate and then ran to throw up all the pills so I wouldn't die. My first purge was to save my life. After that the purging became easier and more fun. Doritos, potatoes, candy, cake. I ate and threw up everything. i didn't even binge, I would just purge all my food. Once I hit high school, breakfast was 3 or 4 cups of coffee, lunch was a little bag of chips and a soda and dinner was purged. All snacks were purged. Then the coffee was purged too. I began purging 6 or 7 times a day. My dad got mad once because I said my parents didn't love me. He responded by running after me down the stairs. Sitting on my chest (he at 6'3" and 250+ pounds) and choking me until i apologized. My mother never believed me or cared." I am 5'10.5" tall. I weighed 135 pounds for most of my sophomore and junior years. The most I weighed in high school was 150. I know weight 165 and hate myself. I once weighed 191. College was a steady stream of binging and purging and drugs and self-loathing. I began working out 90-120 minutes every day while purging at least 3-5 times a day. I got back down to 139 with a larger amount of muscle than high school. I got there by getting food poisoning. Best weekend of my life. I hate being fat. I tired to "recover" which really meant my body wasn't purging well anymore. I hated myself more and more. I began doing coke, more and more coke. I left NYC and moved back to Texas. I have gotten fatter and more depressed. i developed a very bad coke habit. It's been almost 7 months since I last had any coke. I got up to 191 in the past year. I am spiraling out of control. Through a lot of self-loathing and -control I am back to 165. I hate looking at myself in the mirror. All I see is fat and all I hear is my godmothers voice. I cry so much my face and throat constantly hurt. The cycle has begun again with friends calling me swollen or making plans with me just to blow me off. I feel so alone. Without the numbers on the scale to guide me, how will I know my self-worth?
7:55 a.m. - 2010-06-21
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