I didn’t step on the scales this morning.
I know the figures would have gone up from eating so much yesterday and I couldn’t bear seeing higher numbers.
I’ve been a bit of an emotional train wreck these last few days. Some sorta full on bipolar, manic depressive roller coaster. Screeching round tight corners between break-neck hyper joy and the slamming breaks of reflections in the mirror and screaming inner pain.
My mum has been eating away at the remainder of my self-esteem with devastating effect, constantly finding fault with every single part of me.
I received my degree results in the post when I got home from work on Tuesday night. I got a fucking 2:1. I was sooo relieved and thankful. My mum leaned over the staircase banister and looked blankly at me. ‘So you’re happy are you?’ she said bitterly. ‘Yes.’ ‘I expected a first. Honestly I expected a first. You always used to get the top grades.’
And that was it.
Not a smile even.
It didn’t really affect me. I knew I wasn’t gonna get a first and I had been praying for a 2:1, and I knew I was extremely lucky to get it.
Until the next day, when I went into work, and everyone was congratulating me and telling me how impressed they were, and how proud I should be. While I was away on my lunch break they brought me a massive bouquet of the most beautiful flowers and a card. I was indescribably touched and moved, having to fight so hard to keep back the tears. I had never expected anyone to even bat an eyelid, and here was the whole office congratulating me and making me feel special for what I had achieved.
It made me realise that so much of my self-worth (or complete lack of it) has been established and confirmed by my mum. Because she reiterates everyday how worthless and horrible I am, there has never been any space in my thoughts for any other feelings. Because she didn’t value my degree, I didn’t value it. Because she thought I was a failure, I never questioned it.
But she is so wrong.
I have an upper second class degree in English Literature from a respectable university and I’ve got a place at one of the most reputable law schools in London to study law in September.
Thanks to all the kind people in my office, I have been able to feel the first sense of pride and self-worth towards myself since I was a little girl.
So a lot of tears and breakdowns as I tried to grapple with it all. Her words were ringing in my ears: ‘Everyone tells me I should be so proud. Ha! How could I be proud of YOU? Look at you...sick...’
I confronted her last night. ‘Name one thing you like about me.’ She ignored me. ‘Go one tell me something nice about me.’ She couldn’t do it.
Somehow I have to learn to re-programme myself and learn to remove her influence from my head. I have to learn to block out every cruel, demeaning thing she says to me. But it’s so hard when you’re a daughter who cares so much.
I can’t really be bothered to go into the panic attacks at the hands of mirrors or the hours spent changing dresses and analysing every angle to see which makes me look thinner.
I cracked yesterday. Binged for dinner. Seafood salad, chocolate muffin, giant cookie and a baguette. Puked in public toilets rather than going back to the office ones. Great, big congealed lumps of tearful relief. Prawns still completely whole. Got home and binged again after confronting my mum. Like 4 chocolate bars, three packets of crisps and bread... puking ok but not as completely as I would like.
Sickly sing-song over and over in my head: I binge and I barf ‘cos I carry the scars...
I can't stand the way I look.
Starving has got to be the cure.
Hillary Clinton meme
9 months ago