The past is the past....yeah right!

It doesn't matter how many times my psychologist tells me that what's happened in the past should stay in the past, it's just not going to happen. Don't get me wrong, she makes a good point, and in a perfect world everything that has happened in the past will have a neat little bridge for me to cross over to the other side, the side of acceptance and moving on. I don't have such a bridge, not with most things. Emma tells me that I shouldn't let past issues effect me now. I have no control over them, they are gone and nothing can be done to change them, only my attitude towards how I feel about them can be changed. That's all I have control over, my own reactions.

That is brilliant advice, really it is. It makes total sense to me. Again, easier said than done. I am mad over so many things that happened to me in my past, most of which weren't of my own doing and I deserved better.

My parent's separating, for one, was not my fault (and really was for the best in the end) but it upended my life as I'd known it and divided my parents. From the moment Dad left, I never heard them speak another civil word to each other, or stand in the same vicinity without there being a glacier between them. Not to mention I became their gofer, the go between for messages, taunts and snide remarks. Great job guys! Put a young adolescent in the middle of your messy divorce and NOT expect her to be screwed up! Really, my parents were geniuses weren't they! *insert sarcasm, in case you missed it*

Now that was bad enough, what was worse was that I couldn't stand my mother. Never have been able to. At 21 I was more mature than she was at 45. She's had a lot of trauma in her own upbringing (if you can believe what she says, which one can't always...habitual liar that she is) but there are ways to get over that. She's never done any work towards it though, as far as I can tell. I, at least, am trying!
So that is why I see Emma, my psychologist, once a month or so.

I've always found my mother to be extremely judgemental and smothering which is stifling to a fiercely independent person such as myself. Growing up, there weren't a lot of 'I love you's' going around either or even talking about your problems. In my family, if you had a problem you NEVER talked about it. You 'got over it' and moved on. In other words you buried it deep down inside, never dealt with anything and just waited for all those feelings to fester, and in my case, burst out at the most inopportune times. Another reason I've done so much work with psychologists, to learn to talk about my problems. I believe this has also helped me become a person who is more accepting of others also.

As soon as I found out my parents were divorcing I said 'I want to live with Dad'. There wasn't even the hint of wanting to stay with my mother. So when the opportunity presented itself, I did just that. I was about 4 months shy of my 13th birthday when I finally escaped my Mother and went to live with my Dad.

For about 6 months it was great. I had him pretty much all to myself. He was a lot more lenient than my mother, allowing me to do things she wouldn't such as dye my hair, shave my legs and even ride my bike to school. Typical things a 13 year old should be doing!

It was also around this time that I started hitting puberty. I got taller, my C cup boobs flourished within 3 months (to my shock and horror!) and my hips widened giving me a more chunky, womanly look. This is when my Dad started telling me I was fat.

He'd take me clothes shopping and buy me the clothes I really wanted, but in a size smaller than I needed them to 'encourage me' to lose weight. He'd limit my food intake at meals, giving me half of what he'd give my sisters or himself and tell me I couldn't have any more than that.

I rebelled by midnight snacking. I'd also steal money from his wallet and go buy snacks at the shops to hide in my room. I'd binge whenever I could, yet despite this I didn't actually put on much weight. My body was still changing, as it needed to, but I put on very little fat. I was a size 14-16 in clothes at age 14. I had wide 'child baring hips' and was tall, 5'11" to be precise. Yet the fat remarks continued. My dad would even take me 'walking' with him and his girlfriend. I have, and probably always will, hate exercising because of these enforced exercise times. His idea of exercise wasn't a leisurely stroll around the park, it was a 4km power-walk along the foreshore. I was forced to do this 3 times a week.

In the end I just decided I was fat. I'd been told enough times so it must have been true right??

By the time I was 16 I weighted 90kg. I'd given up caring by this stage. I never noticed if/when I put on weight because I already thought I was fat. You aren't going to notice something if you already believe it to be so.

Me, far right, age 16

Now call me crazy, and many have, but I despise my father for this. I am screwed up in the head because of his treatment of me. I now have a serious health issue, morbid obesity, because of his actions and emotional torment.

You can sit there all you like and say 'you could have done something about it at any time, you LET yourself get this big'. And you would be right. But the fact of the matter is I didn't notice. I really, honestly didn't. Humans have the ability to lie, we are the only creature on the face of the earth that can do so, and we do it very convincingly, especially when we lie to ourselves!

I avoided scales like the plague. When I was forced to buy larger clothes, bras, underwear etc I TOLD myself that it was the clothing manufactures that were changing the sizes. 'They' always do that, who ever 'They' are (and I've actually since learned that there are no standardised sizing regulations in Australia!).
No-one I knew told me I was getting bigger. Whether they just didn't care or didn't want to hurt my feelings I don't know. I doubt I would have listened to them anyway. I'd have resented them and eaten more to comfort myself.

For me, losing weight isn't only a physical battle. It's an emotional and mental one too. I have to unlearn all that negative behaviour. I have to force myself to get on the scales. I have to force myself to notice my weight loss, and to be honest I still don't. It is a REAL struggle to do so. I have people say to me all the time 'Wow you look like you've lost more weight' and the first thing my brain tells me is 'They're lying'. I still haven't worked out how to make exercise an enjoyable experience. It still has a lot of negative emotion surrounding it for me. I'm working on it though.

The lightest I've been in my adult life is 76kg. I lost 40kg during my pregnancy with my son due to gall stones and was quite sick with them for about 6 months after having him also. Although I lost all that weight I still felt fat. I never noticed I was skinnier. Nor did I have anyone telling me I looked great. Not that it should be necessary, but someone saying something might have helped.

Age 19, 79kg. 2 weeks after my son's birth.

I really believe I have an eating disorder. Something like reverse anorexia. There is all this hype about bulimia and anorexia because they are so noticeable. People starving themselves to death will always get more recognition compared to people eating themselves to death.

I've read up on Anorexia and bulimia, and it is widely known that people suffering these disorders hear a disparaging voice in their heads, telling them they are fat, no matter what they look like. Telling them that if they eat that food they'll get fatter and fatter etc.

My 'voice' started out as a real life one that I could hear every day, in the form of my Father. Eventually, over time, it became internal also. But instead of avoiding foods, I turned to them to comfort me. My internal voice doesn't tell me I'll get fat if I eat that food. It tells me I'm already fat, so why not eat that food and enjoy myself. After all food makes me feel happier, even if it's only temporary.

My 'voice', aka Bertha, convinces me that I'm not putting on weight, but that the clothing companies are shrinking the clothes sizes. She tells me that the little child at Coles said to his mother 'wow Mummy look at that really fat lady' not because I'm overly huge, but because his mother is so tiny and skinny he's just never seen someone larger. She tells me that sure, I'm fat, but I'm not obese. And if I'm already fat, who cares if I become obese. No one is going to like me anyway coz I'm fat. No one is going to be attracted to me, because I'm fat. She tells me I'm not worth anything to the world, because I'm fat.

Ordinarily, you would think, Why listen to her? And I wish it were as easy as that, I wish I could just ignore all those nasty words. The fact is I have my life confirming every single little thing that Bertha whispers in my head.

I haven't been in a relationship in almost 10 years. Bertha tells me this is because I'm fat and fat=ugly.  She tells me no one is openly attracted to a fatty, unless there is something wrong with them or they can't do any better.

I haven't had a job that lasted more than 3 days in almost 10 years. Bertha tells me this is because I'm fat and no one wants to employ a fatty, especially in the fast-food/hospitality industry, which are the easiest jobs to obtain. Who wants to be served their junk food at McDonalds by someone morbidly obese? It doesn't make good business sense, she tells me.

Bertha tells me the only thing I'm good for is raising my son, and even then I'm only just scraping through. She also tells me that those few men that have been interested were only so, because I'm their dirty little secret. It's not socially acceptable for men to be attracted to fatties, Bertha tells me, so they must have a secret fantasy they want to live out. That's all I'm good for, being the dirty secret fantasy that no one should ever know they harbour. That's why they don't want to date me, introduce me to their parent and friends or go out with me in public to the movies or dinner or even to have a coffee. Who would want to have to introduce YOU to anyone? You are an embarrassment, their friends would be asking them, behind your back, 'Why are you with that tub of lard?!'.

Bertha is loud. She is convincing and hurtful. She has evidence to back up her taunts. She is relentless and energy draining. On the days I fight her I feel happy but also exhausted, not only physically but emotionally. On the days I listen to Bertha I feel miserable and just cry. It's difficult to fight when you are crying and feeling down. At the moment I have more 'listening to Bertha' days compared to fighting days. It is evening out though. She has been having her wicked way with me for years, and years. It's going to take a lot more effort and time to stamp down her negative effect on my life and learn to fight her, and eventually ignore her. I hope one day that Bertha will be no more. I hope for the day that I no longer have to fight to ignore her, the day that ignoring her is no longer second nature. The day where she just doesn't exist any more. I don't know when that day will come, or even if it will, but I have hope.

Hope is all I have now.