Today I went over to my grandparents house to dye eggs and have dinner. They had meatloaf. I don't like meatloaf. I ate it anyways and didn't enjoy it.
While I was eating, I told them 'yeah, I have bad memories with meatloaf.'
They obviously asked me why, and I obviously told them.
I said that when I was little, my dad would make me try new foods-I never liked any of them-and if I didn't eat all of it, he wouldn't give me any more food. Not just for that day either. Depending on how resilient I was, I would go days or even weeks without food until I finished that meal.
He also gave me big servings and expected me to finish it all. This made me really aware of my weight and restricted me to eating only a few things. This made me really picky.
Years later, I'm struggling with body image and body dysmorphia. I'm starving myself on purpose and not eating in front of people because I think they'll judge me. It's not even an irrational fear, either. People have judged me because of it.
I've started being overly grateful for every meal I have and I think more people should be like that.
Teachers always say we should be more grateful for the things we have because we have a loving family, a roof over our heads, and food to eat, but I have a few problems with that.
First off, how do you know how grateful I am? Second, how do you know I have all those things?
I once lived off of only orange juice for a week because my dad wouldn't let me have food. I remember collapsing on the floor everyday because I didn't have food. I remember burying my face in my beanbag and holding my stomach because it felt like somebody was carving it out with a spoon.
And my dad calls me a liar? He made me that way. I got really good and pretending I ate things. One time my dad and his fiancé had to do something, so they left one of our renters to watch me and make sure I ate all of my food. I remember since I was eating something messy, I got a lot of napkins and I would just spit the food into the napkin and throw it out.
Doing all of this starving and self deprivation didn't really make clothes shopping the best either. Especially not dresses. I feel so out of place in my own skin. It's like putting a man in a dress.
I told people that I have bad memories with dresses and they asked why. This time, I didn't tell them because I thought they would think it was silly.
I remember being in dresses and staring at my reflection while crying. I hated what I saw. I hated it. I've broken so many mirrors.
Poor baby Tuesday...
One time my dad said I was faking being anorexic. The problem is, that man disgusts me so much that I lose my appetite every time I think of him. It doesn't help that his way of raising my self esteem is talking about my body or how 'pretty' I am.
Blonde hair, blue eyes, white, and skinny. That's all he sees in me. He's going to be the new Hitler, I know it.
I remember, one time, I had to get measured for my bridesmaids dress and we were talking about how big my hips were. If I remember correctly it was at a 39.7. 20-29 year old women are supposed to have a hip size of 38.7. Women 30-39 should have about 40.4 sized hips. According to google, I have the hips of a 30 year old woman. That's over twice my age.
My dad started obsessively talking about it. He even started singing songs about my ass. My 'stepmom' joined and they were just screaming songs about my ass on the top of their lounges and running around the house.
I think I've been verbally abused again.
It's not even the first time my dad has done something like this either, though. He always talks about my body and goes out of his way to touch me. I feel like his little pet, held against my will. Always having to let him touch me or call him daddy. He's a foot taller than me.
I'm about to cry.
My mouth tastes like cheap wine.
He talks about me getting a boyfriend
and how, 'oh you're so pretty! They boys will be all over you! They'll be lining up at your door!"
YOU FUCKING PERVERT. WHAT?! He thinks this is helping my self esteem? Saying that I'll have millions of bitches at disposal who'll do whatever they want with me? No!
I'm about to cry again.
My lips sting.
They taste like blood.
I'm afraid of my dad.
He's my biggest fear.
I remember, one time my dad was scolding me for being friends with gay people. We got into a screaming match. I was afraid. I thought he'd hurt me. At one point, I asked him, 'WHAT IF I WAS LIKE THEM?! WOULD YOU STOP LOVING ME?! WOULD YOU HURT ME?! WOULD YOU STOP FEEDING ME?! I HAVNT HAD ANY STABILITY MY WHOLE LIFE! IVE FINALLY FOUND SOME, AND YOU WANT TO TAKE IT AWAY!?'
All he said was, 'well, technically, I'm not legally allowed to stop feeding you.'
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The bad memory wasn't even the worst part of telling the story. I thought it was normal. I thought every kid was starved like that, but the way that they all looked at me after that...
It was kind of the way Dan looked at me when I told him that my father makes me call him daddy.
The way their faces twisted...
Utter pitty.
