Category: weight

This is it.

All my life I craved their approval, I wanted their attention, I wanted to be in their presence, whether it earned me an insult or a coffee poured on me, I got their attention, didn’t I?

0-12 years, who am I to them but the ugly sister? The black sister? The pig sister? The one they’re embarrassed to introduce, the one who smells, the one who acts like an animal.

12-19, I’m the wild one, the dumb one, the depressed one, the suicidal one, the failure, the slut, the waste of time, the disgrace?

20-25, I’m the drug addict, the fat one, the whore, the black one, the desperate one, the useless one, the waste of money?

25-30, The one who ruins lives, the whore, wild, sickly, fat, ugly, going nowhere in life, useless mother, not their blood, not good enough, the hated one, the filthy one, the one who will rot in hell.

But I still wanted approval, the acceptance, the glimmer of hope that despite the heart wrenching pain they caused, I’ll be apart of their world, so I’ll take it, I’ll take it until I’m in a dark place, where the echoes of their remarks full the emptiness of the room, but still I forgive them because I hoped they’d be the one to open the door and let light in.

But now 26-30 years, you can’t force family to love you even though you’re connected by blood, it took me years of ridicule and loneliness to understand that I am strong, that the hatred poured onto me in every stage of my life shaped me into something resilient, I’m a pyramid that will stand strong through any obstacle, I’m the seed that grew into a flower with the dirt thrown at me and every time I felt like I was drowning, I was learning to swim, to swim away from toxicity, from loneliness, from the need for approval, from people who bring me pain instead of joy.

All my life I wanted approval but that’s over, now I wish them well.

More than anything I’d love to love myself.

From a young age I was forced to accept that I’m not good enough, my complexion was darker than the rest of them, my behaviour was too playful, I wasn’t like the other girls, I was running around, climbing trees and jumping off walls, I was happy with the way I was, but it was one of these moments where I was most comfortable that ruined my self esteem, forever.

Here I am sitting on a wall, singing a song I heard on the radio station, as usual no one noticed me, no one wanted to join me because I was the odd one from all my sisters so it just so happens that i overhead a conversation that will break my heart everytime, my sisters who were popular chilling with all their friends, gossiping and giggling when someone noticed the little girl who sat on the wall, “ whose the small girl on that wall?” They asked, to what my sister replied, “ Eww, that ugly black pig? She’s my tenants child, she’s from the farms.” I was just a child, but it destroyed my self esteem, I remember the same friend walking pass me a few months later and asked me where’s my parents because apparently I’m not from here.

I grew up wanting to fit the image that my sisters considered perfect, I wanted to be skinny, I wanted long black hair, I wanted to be light brown and I wanted to be known as their sister and not the tenants child.

So I tried, I stopped climbing as much, I stopped cutting my hair, I stopped eating a lot and for a little while I think they liked me, maybe throughout my teen years, they picked on my scars and my glasses but I was abit prettier to them now so I could live with that.

But when the seizures started, I had to gain weight, but I’m back to self hatred and no longer having a self esteem, I’m now an embarrassment to the family, I’m too fat and my weight is disgusting, and if it comes down to it maybe it wouldn’t bother me this much but I’ve never been good enough, pretty enough and loved enough to accept when they criticize me, it ruins me, it makes me want to punch mirrors and throw away my comfort food, it makes me wanna stick my toothbrush down my throat until I can’t throw up anymore, it makes me wanna hide underneath a hoodie so no one can judge my weight and complexion.

And no matter how many compliments I receive, no matter how old I get, it always comes back to “she’s my tenants child.”