1st smallfeather

There was a period of my traumatic childhood where food was either with-held, or used as a form of reward, given or taken from me as a means of a particular parent feeling extremely guilty for their lack of ability to keep me and my body safe. During the hungry times, I stole food from home, from dairies, from some kids lunchboxes at school.  The latter being the trickiest by far as I first had to break into their bags out in the corridor to get to their lunchboxes.

A sister owned a dairy which my mother also worked in. A bit later on, Mum and Dad bought a dairy almost across the road from my sisters dairy. I stole food from both dairies. I didn’t just nibble away at stuff hoping to not get caught. I would absofuckinglutely gorge myself. Sometimes I gorged because I was literally starving. Other times I gorged because I believed that if I kept getting fatter and fatter and fatter, the men who were abusing my body would no longer find me attractive. I was very saddened to discover that it didn’t matter how fat I became, I was still going to be abused. I never stopped trying to become unattractive by way of weight.

I was 10 stone at the age of 10. I vividly recall stepping on the bathroom scales, seeing that I was “10 stone” and telling myself that I was going to be the same weight as my age until I died. I was freaking 10 years old and thinking along these lines. I remember being 25 stone when I was 23 years old. At the age of 25 however I weighed 13 stone. I had lost 12 stone in the space of 12 months. 13 stone is the lightest I have ever been since the age of 12.

Sadly, I did not yet have the social, assertive or cognitive skills to manage what felt like to me, a “sudden” amount of attention I was receiving from men.  Just like I did as a young child, I believed that getting fat would stop the unwanted male attention. Getting fat would provide an attitude of disgust among men therefore they would leave me the fuck alone. Again, I was wrong. I did not realise this until I was around 18 stone. And once I got to 18 stone I thought “fuck it – keep eating”. I did.

I am now 46 years of age. And as from the previous post, the heaviest I ever been was around 32 stone / 204 kg around January of this year. I couldn’t eat myself to 46 stone even if my organs allowed me to.

I have some strange food habits. I struggle to have food in my house other than food stuffs that need to be cooked. I struggle to have food in my fridge that does not need to be cooked first. When I do, I experience intense anxieties that tell me that I must eat it all before it’s taken away from me.  It’s easier and healthier for me to just have vegetables in my fridge. No milk.  I rarely buy cheese. I keep Chicken drumsticks in the freezer along with bread and sometimes sausages. I had stopped buying cheese for around 5 years due to my anxious need to immediately consume it once home. I am very proud to acknowledge publicly that I began buying cheese again midway through 2014 and I have managed to treat it with respect for over a year now.

A few weeks ago I was telling Kaiwhakaora Kai that I couldn’t eat all of my dinner and I actually ended up having it for breakfast the next day. It was a stunning experience for me to firstly be unable to consume my dinner in it’s entirety and secondly, for the food to still be in the microwave come morning – like morning as in 8 or 9am. Not 1 minute past midnight morning. I was astonished with myself. Kaiwhakaora Kai asked me what if felt like to have that sort of control back.   At first I thought “what do you mean having that sort of control ‘back'”.  I am unsure whether I’ve ever had the sort of control! And then came the “Whoa” I said to myself. “Control …. me?”. Again I found myself stunned. And proud. Extremely proud. Probably for the first time in 20 years, I’d had an experience of control in relation to food, in my house that did not involve what I deem to be an extreme behaviour.