Motivations

This will be one of those rare times when I try to organise the disorganised thoughts in my head that are causing me much grief because I can't understand what I am trying to think. I like to think that I have always been honest on this blog, and this blog (whether anyone reads it or not) has helped me a lot. Just posting on here makes me feel like I'm reaching out to a group of people who understand me and won't reject me and don't judge me.

Whenever somebody comments I feel so supported in what I am doing, and that was a feeling that I had never experienced prior to starting this blog.

Posting here helps me organise my thoughts and it has helped me come to some conclusions that I'm not sure I would've come to if I were just left to stew in my room.

Something that came to me today was what my motivations were exactly. I think somebody asked me that a few days ago and I've been thinking about it since then. I've also recently had it pointed out to me that if some people were to find out about what I am trying to do, or indeed, read this blog, I would be in some serious trouble. TS and the professor I'm sure would kick my ass.

But if I am risking losing the people in the world who mean the most to me, then what is it exactly that drives me to do what I am doing? And what am I shooting for? Because surely being thin by itself is not enough to compensate for losing just one of those people, let alone all of them?

When I look back at my life to date, I can pinpoint the moments that shaped who I am today. I remember every moment of intermediate school when I was teased every day for being a loser and rejected for being fat and never hung out with the cool kids.

But I was accepting of that. I was friends with the more eclectic kids in school and we had a small but nice posse. Then my best friend at the time, who I thought was perfect, but who I later realised was nothing but a whore and a loser, was always ditching me for other girls. So I learnt that these other girls were better and tried to emulate them.

To this day I have failed at that. I have never been the pretty one. I have never had a boyfriend, or even a guy who was interested in me. I am not sporty. I am not thin.

I remember the day my dad told me I was fat and ugly and unattractive and that no man would ever want me. I relive that moment every day. Every hour of every day at the very least. I think this moment sealed my fate a bit. If my dad thought so, then it must be true. Even though I know that this lacks all logic and is completely irrational, it is what I believe. If my own father can't love me and finds me fat and ugly, then how can any man think any differently?

And I would be totally set in this, but this year, people have started challenging that and it's thrown my whole world into turmoil. The very foundations of my psyche are being questioned by people who I adore, and not just questioned, but completely disregarded. I am no longer sure what is real. It's an odd sort of feeling, because on some level I hold onto that so deeply, and I can't possibly bring myself to believe anything else, but these people, dear TS and prof and SPM and J, people who I adore, people who have become my fictional family, I can neither disregard what they are saying, nor can I believe it and all I can do is let their comments hang in limbo and cling onto them in little spurts of hope only to crush them myself by conjuring up the voices of my past that have dominated my life to date.

What is it about losing weight and being thin that holds so much value?

It's almost as if I'm on autopilot. I don't know anything different. I have never not tried to lose weight, so I don't know how to stop trying to lose weight. It's programmed into me, this is what I must do. My fat ugly self is the common denominator in all the areas of my life in which I've failed, so to my mind, if I can fix that, then I will be better.

There is nothing I can do about being ugly. Even if I got facial reconstructive plastic surgery, I don't think I would emerge as a beauty. I was born ugly, and ugly I will stay. But I can do something about the fat. And it's become the thing that I've thrown all my attention on. When I was younger and still held the hope that I might one day get a boyfriend the one thing that held me back was that a guy would reject me on the basis of my weight so I never really ventured there.

I don't know whether to laugh or cry about that. At the time I was 12 and I promised myself I would not date until I was 16. I'm now nearly 22. I don't know whether ten years ago, I would've believed that ten years on, I would still very much be alone.

The father who couldn't show love coupled with the mother who had no time.

Mum, you spent so much time overseas. I know it wasn't your fault, it was your job and you had to do it to earn the money that fed and clothed me. But it wasn't very nice, growing up without you. Sometimes I really needed you to talk to. But you were either halfway round the world or so busy you didn't even have time to sleep. So I learnt to be lonely and I learnt to grow up without you. It also wasn't nice to grow up without you and with a dad who taught me that I am worthless. Sometimes all I wanted was to have you hold me and tell me that I was okay and that I wasn't ugly and fat and worthless but you were never there. Where were you?

Even if you were free, I didn't want to disturb the one hour of TV that you watched each week. You work so hard that you deserve a break. But why was it that you never had time for me? Even when I was so distressed and actually asked if I could talk to you, why was it that watching TV was more important? Why was I always waiting?

I miss you so much Mum, even when we are sitting in the same room, I miss you. You are never where I am. You never have time, in a way you are worse than dad, you don't even exist. You're the brilliant story that everyone talks about but I can't read.

Maybe that's why I play those stupid iPhone games and watch endless videos online. Because both those things are so effectively numbing that I don't feel any of the pain I normally do.

Maybe that's why I feel so attached to the professor, because even though he is ten times busier than mum, he noticed how distressed I was and offered help. Not that I would ever take it, but I don't think I'll ever forget what he said to me, that I can talk to him whenever I want to and that whatever I say will be confidential and that he's not just my boss, he will always be there for me as a doctor.

I do admit that the "doctor" part annoys me, because of course, I'd have loved it if he had said, "as a father". But he is already very careful around me. He is nice enough to me for there to potentially be other people who find it suspicious and it would be the end of the world if he got in trouble because of me. But that just meant so much to me, it is one of the only times in my life when I feel like somebody actually cared. Cared enough to notice, even when I didn't say anything.

Cared enough to actually dig a bit deeper. To ask, "how are you" and then ask, "yes, but are you well" when I answer "fine thanks". I'm sure the professor is like that to everyone, but nobody but the professor is like that to me.

But given all that, I would risk all that to be thin. Because being thin is the one thing that offers me a glimmer of hope of being loved. If I'm fat, I am unlovable. Of course I will risk anything to be eligible for love. Who wouldn't.