I come here again for lack of anywhere else to turn to. Fat-positive communities would silence me for wanting to lose weight. In a mental health community I'd feel out of place for being fat. Only in a fitness community do I have any hope of speaking openly, without fear, about how lonely and isolating it is to hate yourself with every fiber of your being because of your weight.
When I was four years old, my father molested me. I turned to food to cope, and discovered overeating made me feel full in a similar way to how he had, but in a way I could control, not him. That was how I came to associate food with power, and how my toxic relationship with food started. I ate to take back agency.
Slowly I realized being overweight made me feel filthy. I came to associate my increase in weight with the mark he left inside me. That was when I started hating myself. It created a dilemma. If I lost my weight, I could be clean and innocent again; but, to do that, I'd have to give up my restored agency and power. From what I weigh now, I suppose it's plain to see what felt more important.
I'd like to clarify I don't hate anyone else for their weight but myself. In fact, I find larger folk more attractive, moreso if they have healthy self esteem, but that's not a discussion fit for this venue. Well, not that any of this really is, I suppose.
My highest weight was 400lbs. From there, I lost back down to 260lbs during university. Some of that loss was accomplished in healthy ways. Some was through water fasting for up to a week at a time. Some was through purging. Regardless, I shot back up after my mother died two and a half years ago. During this bereavement and regaining period, I've dropped out of university and moved to a studio apartment. I don't work; I live off the life insurance beneficiary payout for now, and I'm afraid to get a job because I'm afraid of how much it will hurt when I inevitably fail my responsibilities and get fired. I don't drive; I never learned; I was too busy with academics. I have no offline friends or points of contact except my uncle.
In theory, I enjoy hobbyist programming, drawing, creative writing, musical composition, singing, and martial arts. These are all things which, before my mother's death, I greatly relished, and fancied myself decent at. Now, it feels like I've "lost my voice" in respect to all of them. I'm suddenly terrible at all of them and none of them seem worthwhile. Avoiding food is all the more difficult now that it seems to be all that's left to me in this world.
I like going for walks, but almost every time I go for a walk, I compulsively buy groceries. It's not like I can't stop myself. It's more that once I get the idea in my head, I know that if I do stop myself, that little fat voice in my head will spend the rest of the day screaming, "Why didn't you binge," and the irrational feelings of deprivation thus created would leave me even more miserable than I would've been if I'd just given in.
I don't know what to do. I'm getting to the point where I want to just say *kitten* it all and start fasting again. I mean who even gives a *kitten*, it's not like I have actual responsibilities I'll be rendering myself unfit to take care of. I just wish I could start life over. But of course no one has that luxury.
I don't just hate my weight, I hate that I'm everything you'd expect someone of my weight to be. I hate that I'm lazy, greedy, stupid, without aspirations, without higher meaning or purpose to my life, without any sense of what it means to struggle or have difficult experiences or truly be "hungry," I hate that I just sit here eating while half the world starves, I hate that I'm a disgusting gasbag, I hate that I never think of anyone but myself -- yet I have no choice but to be selfish, because I'm too shy to let myself think of others -- I hate that I'm basically all-around worthless.
Sometimes I wish I were homeless or terminally ill just so I wouldn't have the means to sustain caloric excess. Given how I'm living, neither of those eventualities are necessarily far off.
I'm sorry for the downer rant. I had to get it out. I was in too much pain holding it in. Maybe if I were strong enough to keep my misery to myself and bottle it up, I'd be strong enough to resist food. Maybe that's skinny people's secret. They're all as miserable as me deep down, I'm just too weak to handle it.