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I Did Not Ask For This Body

I did not ask for this body, I do not want it.

When I look in the mirror I feel a powerful cognitive dissonance. I have to be – I must be looking at something other than myself.

People say it is just a body, but it isn’t. It is the only physical representation of my entire self. It is the one – the only – thing tying me to this earth, which is not a place I often want to be.

If I can scrape the fat off my bones, then I can disappear, sink right through the cracks, and fade into the woodwork of life. Sometimes I fantasize about melting, or burning, or dissolving.

Instead I starve.

I cannot offer any deep insights into my body or my mind. I don’t know why I hate the feeling of food in my stomach. Why the only times I eat are when I’m in full binging mode.

I would like to offer up some counterpoints to the common myths surrounding eating disorders: I do not want to be beautiful. I do not want to look good in a bikini. I do not want boys to look at me.

In fact, I would prefer that nobody looks at me. I have come to the conclusion I’m almost certainly asexual, which I can’t pretend doesn’t influence my isolation from the “sexual” aspects of this – of my body.

I did not ask for this body, and no matter what I do, I cannot shrink my body, force it into a prepubescent frame, where I am free of the long fingers of sex and of the realities of growing up.

It’s not for lack of trying.

My Parents, My Bullies

The name is Kat, and I’m a 29 year old college graduate. I feel bad about being so “big” and still being bullied. I thought it was something that just happens to kids and teens, but thanks to The Band, I’ve felt a little more comfortable admitting that yeah, I’m 29 and I’m still being bullied.

My parents have always had problems. When I was smaller, they would get into huge, violent fights that would end up in them beating each other (mostly my dad towards my mother) and cussing at each other. My two younger sisters and I grew up in a very violent atmosphere but were always close.

We also lived with our grandparents in the same house, and they would defend us a lot from my parents’ rage. My dad was an alcoholic and cheated on my mother. She would take it out on my sisters and me, mostly on me, since I was the one that always talked back to her, protecting my sisters.

Thanks to the constant abuses, I grew up insecure about myself. I was actually pretty creative, but also very violent. The slightest insult towards me, and I would attack other kids. Whenever my mom and I fought, I would feel the need to eat, so I was a little chubby. That got me bullied even more.

Back home, my mom used to beat my sisters and me with a wooden flat stick, saying that the Bible told her to “correct” her children like that. Aside from that, she would slap, choke, and punch me in the face, in many of our confrontations.

As a teen, I had a lot of trouble with authority and got into many fights with kids, claiming they only wanted to hurt me. My first boyfriend went to jail, and I changed universities a lot.

At 23, I had enough, and left the house. I got a great paying job and moved into an apartment, away from my mother. Once out, I got thin, got a new wonderful boyfriend and had a “perfect” life. But I still wanted to finish my career, which meant I had to quit my job, go back home, find another job that allowed me to study, and get into college once again.

Back home, I got chubby again. My mother constantly fights with me and tells me she doesn’t want me in her house. She values the pet more than me since she tells me that if her pet is sleeping on my bed, I’m not allowed to push her off. Sometimes I can’t sleep because of it. Her new husband shouts at me and loves getting me in trouble with her. I had to fight and struggle through college because of the stress at home.

I graduated three months ago, and I’m desperately looking for a job, so I can get out of this hell. My mom and I fight at least four times a week, and she always tells me to get the fuck out of her house. I have nowhere to go. I don’t want to involve my friends in this, and my father has another family. I’m desperate, I feel lonely, I lost my boyfriend, and she and her husband are constantly bullying me.

It may sound horrible and harsh, but its the truth. It took me 29 years to figure out why I eat compulsively. Just now, we had another fight. As soon as it ended, I raided the fridge, even though I wasn’t hungry at all. It’s not about filling “the void,” its about the desperation and anxiety I feel that make me want to eat like crazy.

However, I still remain strong. I wish for you gentle people who read my story to stay strong. I may be a little depressive, but I’m not suicidal. I love life and I want to move on. I know there are many amazing things waiting for me, and I just have to go ahead and do them.

Thanks for reading my story.


Addiction is a beast that spins yarns of lies that we often believe.

These are the struggles an addict faces:

Encased in a swishing bell jar of beer, my brain screams at me. Hungover. Again.

I am a professional. It would astonish my co-workers to know that I am holding back vomit while they talk to me, that I was awake mere hours ago, drinking, drinking, drinking.

My body is almost used to this dull feeling of the next day. I used to take a day off when I felt this shitty, but now it’s more often than not, so I am accustomed to this silver fish headache razoring my head.

Addiction is the root of my family tree, and I tell myself, I am no where near as bad as most everyone else in my family. I justify the excess even though I know this is not healthy.

Healthy should be my goal… But, I poison myself.

When it’s not alcohol, it’s food. Consumption is key for me, it seems.

My beautiful friend has been working on her dissertation for years. She explained to me once that her inner voice tells her only smart people deserve a Ph.D., so she doesn’t deserve this distinction. She is brilliant, but her mind lies to her.

I feel like I don’t deserve to be healthy. To be sober. To be thin.

If I wanted those things, wouldn’t I just achieve them? I have always achieved everything I have set my sights on.

Instead, it seems, I’m content to wallow in the murky bottle, to deny myself nutrients and instead eat processed garbage.

I have worked so hard on so many areas of my life that I feel like I just need a break. My breaks include booze and fried food. Why?

Comfort food makes me feel very uncomfortable. And yet, I choose to eat this way every day.

I want to be my best self, and yet, maybe this is it.

Maybe this is who I always will be.