This guest post is from TwistedSister,
a 23 year old woman from the UK. In this post, she relays her
perspective of an incident that occurred when she was 13 years old,
struggling with mental illness and anorexia.
—-
Being looked up and down is never nice for anyone to endure, but
when you constantly have people doing it, it makes you wonder what is
so wrong with you that people feel the need to do it.
I have been constantly criticized on how I look and what I eat.
Mainly from family and females. Men have done it too but the main
judging has always come from females. Being judged by how I looked cut
me to pieces.
I remember one time that really got to me when I was out at the
shops to get milk for my mother. I walked around the shop looking for
what I needed, and I could feel someone looking at me. I always kept my
head down, ashamed of myself for even being in the public eye and I
tried to be as invisible as possible, but I could feel someone looking
at me.
Without looking up I tried to find the person whose eyes were
burning into me, and then I saw her. She was probably in her late
teens, and she was just staring at me, I couldn’t understand why. She
then started whispering to her mate that was standing behind her and
started pointing at me. I heard them both laugh as they kept pointing.
When the girl realized I could see her, she started shouting at me.
“What’s wrong with you?!” she yelled.
I kept silent.
“You look a mess. No one will ever fancy you. You will never get a boyfriend because you look like crap” she said.
She went on with the tirade —telling me my hair was dry and
horrible, that I was spotty and had fat legs. Before I could respond,
to this girl the cashier told me to come forward. As I walked to the
counter I could feel the eyes watching me as I moved, it felt like I
was in a freak show and the audience were watching the freak come to
the stage.
While I was paying the girls continued to laugh, then two boys
walked in and joined the queue with the girls. They asked what the
girls were laughing at and they told them they were laughing at me and
the state of me. They then joined in too, one boy shouted hey lard ass!
This made the rest of the group cackle like a bunch of bloody hyenas.
I paid as quickly as possible; I just wanted to get out of there and go home and hide.
“You don’t have a fat ass,” the cashier whispered to me as she
handed me my change (which I should have known seeing that I weighed 6
stone 3lbs). “They are just jealous. Ignore them,” she said.
I nodded and ran crying my eyes out towards my house.
I hid in a bush for near on a hour, in tears, wondering what was so
wrong with me that people felt the need to keep hurting me, telling me
I wasn’t good enough and that I was fat. I believed them, I thought
that if so many people believed this was true well then it just must
be. I wiped my eyes and crawled out the bush, kept my head low and
walked home.
Soon as I got home mother started her usual rant about how long I
had been and what the hell was I thinking taking so long. I tried to
explain.
“What? Did ugliness stop you from walking? Or did your legs keep rubbing together so it got harder?” she preached.
That’s what I was asked.
I kept silent.
I put the milk on the counter along with the change and ran to my
bedroom where I shut the door and hid under my bed. My self esteem was
in shreds, I hated myself, I cut myself, on my legs, to see the blood
was for some reason refreshing to me, it made me feel a little better
but not enough.
So I then crawled out from the under the bed and stuck my fingers
down my throat trying to get every ounce of food, water, anything out
of my body. I wanted to be thin, I believed I was fat, I needed to
change to make people like me. I wasn’t good enough to have friends or
a family that loved me, so I needed to become thinner in order to be
liked.
I hated myself so much, I have never felt hatred like it and the voice in my head fueled this hate.
I was convinced my body was ugly and the only thought in my head was — I am never eating again.
I still get judged today, people stare at me as if I am a puzzle
that needs working out or a math question that confuses them. Girls and
boys alike shout obscene things at me as I walk along the street. I
still have low self-esteem, and I still feel bad about myself
sometimes. I am trying to tackle these things one at a time.
No one likes being judged, but at the end of the day, I am my own worst critic.
-Twisted Sister
You made it through Christmas, now New Years Eve is right around the corner. Here’s some great tips I found from NEDA;
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