Story time continued

I started gaining weight after first grade. At 8 I was probably just chubby, but it was the beginning of mom’s comments on my weight.

At first it was what I shouldn’t wear based on her rules for a fat person’s wardrobe. Nothing sleeveless. Nothing that she thought made you look fatter.

As the weight came, the teasing started. For the most part it wasn’t too bad through grade school. Junior high and high school were worse.

For the most part nothing stands out too much through the years except things with mom. Looking back it just seems like an endless list of what I did wrong. Too loud. Not serious enough. Weird sense of humor. Messy. Lazy. Didn’t keep my room clean. Hell, I didn’t even peel potatoes right! I still remember her ripping the peeler out of my hand and sternly being told to watch her do it correctly. Wonder if that’s why I only make instant potatoes?

The older I got, the more I got the message I was a bother. The few times I did try to talk to her about bullying, her response was to ask what I did to deserve it.

Coming home from school, she’d shoo me away and be told to get a snack then leave her alone because she was watching her show. Eventually I just came in and ate, completely bypassing her.

The biggest conflict we had was my room. I couldn’t begin to count the beatings with a paddle for not cleaning my room to her standards. Sometimes it was a combination punishment, a beating plus my bed stripped, all my possessions piled on it and instructions to not come out until it was done right. All that and I never did learn how to make “hospital corners” with my sheets.

Around junior high the verbal abuse changed. Besides my normal faults, my weight increased so that became a focus.

“Don’t you ever want to be pretty?”

“Don’t you ever want to be loved? No one loves a fat girl!”

“I don’t know why you wear things that make you look so fat.”

Repeat all that for years. Throw in various threats to take me to a psychiatrist to find out what’s wrong with me.

High school the verbal diarrhea got worse from her. Endless screaming rages at me. She’d hurl vile things at me and I’d zone out, watching her veins pulse and ponder if that would cause an aneurysm.

From pretty much 16 until today it’s just been endless verbal abuse. If not straight up abuse, passive aggressive statements or straight out showing her lack of care.

The blows that stuck were “if people knew you like I know you, they wouldn’t like you either“ and “you’re so fat you’ll never have anyone love you.”

Graduated high school. Went to college with no clue what I wanted to do, then fell in love with public relations. The day I graduated she told me I had a worthless degree that I couldn’t do anything with. I had dreams, but I dropped them like hot cools that day.

Went to work at our local state university, figuring I’d stay until I knew what I wanted to be. Less than 2 years later I had my car crash and with more emotional abuse I agreed I was lucky to even have a job. Who hires handicapped people?

Stayed in the library and worked my way up. When I reached the highest position I could get as a civil service employee her comment was “must not of had much competition.”

During this time I had a long distance online relationship. We met in person a few times. At the time I thought it was love. I realized years later it was in love with the thought someone valued me.

During that time I lost weight. A lot of weight. Almost 200 pounds. In my heart I thought I was ready to earn her love. I ended up bulimic. Didn’t matter, I was thinner! I looked normal. I hit my lowest weight and thought FINALLY!

I told her what I lost, she grabbed my loose skin around my waist and said it didn’t matter what I did, I’d never lose that.

Just like that, the hope of winning her approval died.

I gave up losing weight, but not the bulimia. That stayed for years. My dirty little secret.

As the long distance relationship crashed and burned I met Michael. Set up by friends, we went on a blind date that lasted almost 20 years until his sudden passing.

I wish I could say he was my savior and helped me find myself, but it was never that easy. It wasn’t a lack of trying on his part, it was that I was so deeply wounded. For our entire relationship I waited for him to say he was done with me. I never gave him my whole heart. I always was emotionally blocked so I could move on. It’s hard to admit that, but through therapy I understand I loved him the best I how.

After his passing, I started my life all over. Two years into that new life I was directed to a “slightly sweary weight loss lady that you might find helpful” and the roots I’d been growing took hold and my true growth began!