| In this skin; On bullies, depression, God, life, and speaking up. |
[25 Oct 2004|09:48pm] |
I was going through some old files on my computer today, and found this journal-type entry that I wrote a long long time ago. I don’t remember what I wrote it for…and it’s really REALLY long...but I’m going to post it on here anyway, for anyone who wants to read it. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
"...And then there are the people who have never been fat in their lives. The ones who look at you, and the expression on their face says “How the hell can they let themselves get like that!”. Because, lets face it…it’s not like it’s fun to be the fat person.
The truth is, I don’t know. I don’t know how I let myself get like this. In fact, I’ve been ‘fat’ for as long as I can remember. Ever since I was 2 years old, and got a really serious kidney infection, which lasted a few months. It left me bloated. So I’ve had a weight issue for most of my life. And I’ve hated it for all that time. I guess I never really knew what to do about it. I had periods of not eating at all…periods of eating one meal a day…periods of grazing all day…and of course more diet and eating plans than I can remember. As far as my weight loss attempts have gone, I’ve never exactly been consistent. Even now, when I over-eat, or eat something ‘bad’ and feel guilty, in the back of my mind is this urge to make myself throw up and get it out of my system. I don’t DO it, because I know how unhealthy it is…but the thought is there.
It’s not that I don’t WANT to change and lose weight – because believe me, I want it bad. It’s so easy to plan it out. But when it comes to action, and having the motivation to stay with it I lose sight.
I can remember in intermediate, when it felt like almost every day someone would make a comment about my weight. I remember going home, shutting myself in my room, curling up in my wardrobe and crying my heart out. I lived for the weekends, when I would have two whole days to hide away in my room, without people judging me. People say all kinds of shit, and you can try not to let it get to you, but when the people around you are throwing messages of negative self-worth in your face, over and over again, I think that eventually it gets through to you, and you start to believe it. I began to see myself the way that those other people were saying they saw me. And I HATED what I saw. I remember going through a stage of covering all the mirrors in my room with sheets. I couldn’t bear to look at myself. Every time I did, I would cry. I think that year was the loneliest year of my life. I withdrew completely. I didn’t talk to anyone about what I was feeling, or what I was going through. I kept it all to myself. Looking back, that was my first mistake. That year was the destruction of my self-worth and self-confidence. By the end of that year, it was gone. And if you can’t believe in who you are, what do you have left?
Looking back, I can’t help but wonder if those people had any idea of the impact their words had. If they did know, why did they do it? If they didn’t know, would they have stopped if they did? Would they even care? I don’t think they would have given it a second thought. I know that it is in the past, and it shouldn’t matter any more, but it was something which set off a chain reaction which has affected my life in a big way. I guess the scars will always be there.
There are so many little things that people have said, which cut deep when I was an emotional 12 year old girl, struggling to find my place in the world.
My dad, although he generally means well, is a bit of a bully. He makes comments and says things, which make you feel incredibly insignificant. You reach a point where you don’t want to say what you think, or ask a question, because you know that if you open your mouth he will shoot you down, and make you feel stupid. You don’t want to try anything new, because if you make a mistake, he will laugh at you and give you shit about it. It screwed me up, and I see him do the same thing to my brother and sister. I get so angry about it. I don’t want them to become as fucked up as I have. The other day, he was giving my brother shit, because he had asked him how to do something. And I wasn’t gonna stand for that. My brother needed help, not to be told he was useless. So I told Dad exactly what I thought of him, and what he’s doing. My sister, who’s 14, started crying and added her bit. It’s emotional, talking about how much it upsets her. And you know, he just laughed and made some insensitive comment. Mum backed us up, and said I’m right - That he shouldn’t talk to people like that. He’s making them feel worthless, he’s messing up their self esteem. Killing their confidence. And without those things, you don’t believe in yourself, you get withdrawn and depressed. And then suicidal. It happened to me. But he won’t have a bar of it. Doesn’t believe it for a second. He just can’t see how it’s an issue. When it comes to that, he is a cruel, selfish, judgmental, asshole. He doesn’t have a problem with telling his kids that they are useless. In fact, he does it on a regular basis. I can’t stand it. Cant even explain how much I hate it. He’s not really a bad person. He’s just blind to the damage he’s doing and doesn’t seem to see or understand how it’s wrong.
One thing I know for sure, is that when I get married, there is no way it will be to someone like that. There is no way I am ever letting a guy talk to me, or my kids that way. Because I know exactly how much damage it can do. What’s more, I intend on walking up the aisle ALONE. I don’t want him to give me away. I don’t think he deserves that right. If it wasn’t for Mum, I think all 3 of us kids would be emotionally destroyed. She has done so much for us. She means the world to me. We’d be lost without her.
Aside from the at-home-abuse, there was a girl in my form room who harassed me every day that she bothered to show up for school (which, to be fair, wasn’t all that often – Thank God!) she spent her time telling me how fat I was, and tried to push me around. I didn’t say a word, but eventually, I did push back. And that stopped it, for a while at least. Looking back, she was a big girl. And I don’t mean height wise. Go figure.
There was also guy who I didn’t know, who walked straight into me, and yelled “Watch where you’re going, you fat bitch!”. Nice reaction. And the (very very skinny) friend of a friend, who greeted me with “Hey, fat Helena!” and announced that she was going to call me that from now on. I told her to shut up, and she said “Well you are.” She then said she was sorry if it offended me. She really didn’t seem to see a problem with it. Even my teacher made several comments that year about my weight. One she made at the school gates, about how I should watch what I eat, so I don’t get fat, because girls put on weight during puberty. Hah. She didn’t even know what I ate. In fact, I didn’t eat breakfast, and I never ate at school. I starved. It’s weird how little moments like that are permanently imprinted on my mind. Negative memories are all I have of that year at school.
I couldn’t take anymore of it. A couple weeks before my second year started, I decided that there was no way I was going back to that school. So I didn’t. I’m shy, but I’m gutsy like that. When I set my mind to do something, even if I’m shit scared, I will do it. So, without even telling my friends from my old school, I transferred to a private Christian school, where I didn’t know anyone.
I have to say, that was one of the best decisions I ever made. In the whole year, there was really only one guy, who ever hassled me. He wasn’t in my class, but at lunch times about 20 of us would all get together and play volleyball or soccer. During one of those games and he gave me crap over my weight. And when he did, the others stuck up for me and bit his head off. He never did it again. That year gave me a much-welcomed change. The work was harder, and more full-on, but the environment was great. I actually enjoyed doing assignments that year! What a turn around! The people there accepted me, as I was – no questions asked. I can’t thank them enough for that.
The next year was High School, and another school change. The amount of abuse I got there was nothing compared to what it was in intermediate. Of course, there were the bitchy people, and the ‘snobs’ who treated everyone like trash…but I steered clear of them, and didn’t give them a reason to notice me. By High School, people had started to grow up and learned to show some respect. I got the odd bitchy comment, but nothing that was a big deal. I kept to myself, but pretty much got on with everyone. I had a great group of friends, although I never exactly felt like I fit in, and still didn’t open up to them a lot. Over the years I guess I found it was safer to keep my mouth shut. But if they had a problem and needed to talk, they would come to me. They knew I was there for them. I understood them, and knew what to say and do. We always hung out together, were always there for each other, and (most of the time!) got on great. When I was upset, they stood by me. There was one guy, who always gave me shit. Not over my weight. He just always tried to get on my nerves, pretended he knew stuff about me. Even back at the start I couldn’t stand the creep. A group of my friends were going out with his friends, and when they were together one time, he got all sleazy and too close for comfort, so I kicked him one. Hard. And he started howling and swearing. I think he got the idea. But then the next year he started saying shit about me. Til one day, when we were all waiting in the corridor outside Science class. He started hassling me, in front of everyone, and I (calmly) told him to piss off. Then a group of the (so-called “popular”) guys came over, got my back, and ordered him to lay off and leave me alone – or else. I could have kissed them! Haha. There were some incredible guys over the next couple years, who stood up for me, looked out for me, and even walked me to class. Those guys did more for me than they could ever know.
Aside from the one asshole, things were pretty good. The only other comment I can remember is a guy saying to me, “Are you pregnant?”. I was almost tempted to say yes, just to see his reaction! But I just left. One of my friends followed, hugged me, and just let me cry. There were a lot of tears in high school. Emotional teenage girls, ya know! There were so many times behind the boiler room sheds at lunch time when one of us would be upset…and we would all rally around and hug them and try to make them laugh again.
In High School, the laughter by far outnumbered the tears. Looking back, it’s the laughter I remember the most.
But I still had no confidence, and was incredibly sensitive and emotional. In spite of all the good stuff, I still wasn’t entirely happy. I had this ever-present cloud hanging over my head. I wanted to be happy, but most of the time, I felt like I was trapped and dying inside. I was lonely and on edge. I loved my friends, and they were there for me, but I still felt like I was an outsider. I didn’t belong anywhere. My grades started to deteriorate. Fifth form was bad, and I didn’t do a lot of the work. But I managed to pass most of it. Then in Sixth form, I lost it. Although I tried to keep it to myself, I remember crying, a lot, for no reason. Even during class I would break down crying. I stopped caring about all the things that had ever mattered to me. I stopped trying to do well. In fact, I stopped trying to do anything. I pretty much just gave up on school, and on life. Looking back on that year, I have 2 main memories during the last few months of school. One of me and all of my friends, at lunch times and getting out of class to go and paint a huge mural on the wall outside the art room. It was a lot of fun. Lotsa laughter. Painting and talking for hours. School was almost over for the year, and we were loving every second of what was left.
The other memory is the opposite. One day after school, I was walking home (as per usual), and a carload of guys from school drove past, stuck their heads out the window, and screamed “FUCK YOU FAT BITCH!!!” at me as they sped past. I don’t even know who they were. The second they were out of sight, I lost it. I just cried and cried and cried. I think that was my breaking point. It was around then that I remember really wanting to hurt myself and end it all. And I tried. It was then that I stopped trying to hide it all. It was then, I think, that Mum realized that something was seriously wrong, and I wasn’t going to snap out of it. During my final exams, she took me to the doctor, and I was diagnosed with clinical depression. All I remember of that visit, is that I was crying and shaking so much I couldn’t even talk. I don’t even know why I was so upset. I think it was partly because the “diagnosis” of mental illness seemed so big and so scary, and also because suddenly I had this huge sense of relief, that I finally had an answer and a reason for how I was feeling. I was getting help, and I finally believed that I was going to be OK. I wasn’t fighting all on my own anymore. Everything was out in the open.
A couple hours after I got back from the doctors I had my final English Exam. I was feeling so out of it, so light-headed. Everything seemed to blur around me, like I was in some kind of dream. I wasn’t all there. It was the weirdest feeling. I just wanted to cry and cry and cry. Nothing was making any sense. I don’t even know how I managed to write. But I did. And got the second-highest mark in the school. I don’t even remember what was in the paper. But at my lowest of lows, I did the best work I had done all year. God musta given me some kind of miracle that day. That was one of the few subjects I passed that year. I didn’t expect to pass anything at all. I mean, I barely did the work.
After the diagnosis, Mum mentioned it to my teachers, and they were incredibly understanding and supportive of me. In some cases I think they let me off the work lightly. But I’m so thankful to them for what they did for me.
That was my last year of school. I had one more to do, but I couldn’t take it any more. I felt too caged in, and I wanted a whole fresh start.
It has been a few years since then. My fresh start hasn’t exactly happened. In fact, over the past 2 and a half years all I have done is soul-searching. There are still occasionally times when I just want to cry because I don’t know where I’m going or what I want to do with my life…times I get down on myself for not being ‘somebody’. Sometimes I get this feeling that I have let down my family, because I’m not doing the things ‘normal’ people do. By the time they were my age, my parents were working and married. I have neither of those things.
It’s when I compare myself to others that I hurt the most. It is then that I have to stop and remind myself that this is MY life…and it isn’t going to go the same way as theirs. Everyone in this world has a different background, different family, different perspective, different beliefs, different characteristics, different experiences…no two people have the exact same circumstances. You have to learn from what you’ve got and use it the best way you know how. Life is different for everyone, so you CANT compare yourself or your life to anyone else’s. Gods plan for you is different for a reason. Even if you don’t know what that reason is. I have really learnt to trust in Him these past few years. I believe that it is all in His hands, and in His time He will make it all fall into place. Life isn’t so scary knowing that I’ve given it over to him. I don’t need to worry about it anymore – He has all under control. He always did. I just couldn’t see it, and spent too much time stressing and over-thinking things.
I don’t know what is going to happen in my life. But it’s OK not knowing. Because I trust that He wants what is best for me. I trust that everything that has happened, and will happen, is all for a reason – even when I can’t see it! I used to try to take it all into my own hands…and I didn’t know what to do with it! Everything was too much for me to handle and it all just fell apart. Sometimes you just have to let it go and have faith that it will work out. I still don’t know what I’m meant to do with my life. But I rarely get all worked up and stressed out about it anymore. I don’t worry about whether or not I will fall in love, or get married…The thought of ending up alone doesn’t scare me anymore. I’ve accepted that whatever is meant to happen will happen at the time that he has planned it to. I don’t have all the answers to my life. And that’s fine. It isn’t so much about WHO I am, but rather WHOSE I am. I am HIS. That makes everything okay.
I don’t get lonely any more, even though I spend most of my time alone. I am stronger and wiser now, I’ve grown up a lot. And I may not be doing “grown up” things, or living a “grown up” life - I may not have the qualifications, the job, the car, the house, the money, or anything else to show for the past few years. But inside, I have gone through a lot more change than anyone could ever realize. I still don’t have confidence, I still don’t have the sexy figure – far from it! But what I do have is a sense of peace, that somehow I am going to find my way…somehow everything will fall into place…somehow, someday, everything will be all right. I don’t know how or when, but I don’t question it or stress out about it like I used to. To anyone else looking at my life, nothing’s changed. But for me, in this skin, life is different. I am different. I’m better. I have a long way to go, but I’m learning. One thing I’ve found, is that you can’t afford to keep things to yourself. You can hide it so long that it pulls you down. But if you say what you need to say, and share what you think, feel and experience when you have the chance, not only does it make things easier for you, but you could also make a difference in someone else’s life.
In his short film “Strike Zone” Cameron Duncan says “You only regret the things you didn't do”. I’ve found that is true a lot of the time. Looking back, I regret the words I never said. There are so many times that if I had just opened my mouth and said what that voice inside was telling me to, life would have been different. It would have been better. I remember when I was going through my depression, I suddenly found myself meeting all of these incredible and beautiful people who were down on themselves, and on life, and feeling lost, alone, and suicidal. And simply because I had been there, and I had experienced what they were going through, to some extent, I was able to understand and support them much more than I ever could have before. Because of my suffering, I had the opportunity to play a part in helping them to make it through.
During times like that, I have learnt that even the smallest experiences can prepare you to make the biggest differences. I believe that my depression taught me to not only better understand myself, and become a stronger person, but it also allowed me to make a difference for the better.
For that reason alone, I try to say what I think, what I feel and what I believe when I can. You might not get a second chance. I don’t always have the words to say it out loud – I’m not good verbally. But when I write, my hands can speak my heart. I don’t even need to think about it. I guess that is why I am sharing all of this. Because if there is any chance that anything I have been through can make a positive difference in someone’s life, then all of the hurt, the frustration and the heartache is worth it."
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