I have anxiety. It is not a big secret. Some days are better than others, and sometimes I need more help than others. Today was a bad day, and I have no food I can make in the house. This means I need to go to the store, and it being a terrible day for anxiety, I wanted to ask my mom if she would be willing to come to the store with me, just for support. I find going to the store with another person helps me because I can talk to them and not focus on the noise and lights and bustle that overwhelms me.
Well, my mom didn't want to go. That's fine, but then the questions and comments inadvertently berating me about my weight and food started:
"You have to have chili left. You already ate ALL of that food you made?" (This is a reference to a large pot of chili I made five days ago, to which I replied that I had after eating it for multiple days. She scoffed.)
"I don't have fancy food. I see what you buy. You're just picky. I don't need mayo I just put tuna on bread" (This is her way of critiquing my food choices. I have multiple rare diseases, and the meds really mess with my stomach. I can only eat certain things without getting sick at times. And it changes. One time all I could eat without vomiting was nutty buddy bars! That is why I usually buy Ensure because I know that if I have this problem, solid food doesn't work, and if it does, eating one thing is not nutritious. I buy what I can afford, cook when in pain, and can eat without puking.)
Then came this beauty:
"I seen you eat. You shovel your food in your face and if you eat like that it is no wonder you have no food" (One day when I was running my mom around to help her, I had to stop and get a Burger King meal. I hadn't eaten in over 16 hours and was dizzy and shaky. I asked her if we could stop and we did. I was just eating at a normal pace, and the whole time she was making comments about what I got, and how gross it was, and how she doesn't understand how I can eat that fattening crap, etc. That whole meal I felt like a fat, ugly piece of shit. Like I am to blame for my condition. But I am not. I have a fat disorder called Lipedema. I will write a blog post about that later)
So, I just hung up the phone after she said this last comment. I suffer from eating disorders. I alternate between binge eating and anorexia. I really do not eat a lot. Ask anyone who is around me a lot. They always yelp at me for not eating and force me to eat sometimes. That on top of my stomach being torn apart from my meds.
Now I feel like I am just a fat, ugly, useless piece of crap. I am looking at my body, the one I have worked so hard to save, and to love, like it is a disgusting blob and I am fighting those inner demons of self hatred and that little voice I worked so hard to stifle that tells me to do whatever it takes to prove I am worthy of love, love that society tells me I do not deserve because I am fat. Fighting that feeling that tells me I have to punish myself for being so gross and ugly.
I am writing this to tell anyone who makes little remarks, you may think you are helping. You may think you have a right to nitpick someone's weight. But you do not know their struggles. Your words may very well create a door for those demons they are privately fighting to walk through, allowing them to attach to the soul of the person.
Your words are powerful. You have the power to heal, to help. To spread love and compassion. Or you have the power to tear down. To hurt. To mock. To harm someone. Words hurt. I implore you all, before you speak or type something remember that you never know what demons someone is fighting. You don't know their pain or struggles.
Remember your words are like bricks. Will you use them to build someone up, or throw those bricks into the fragile glass door someone else has worked so hard to create that keeps their struggles at bay, shattering it, and the person? Your words. Your choice. I hope you make the right ones.
