Fuck fuckfuckfuck fuck fuck Y’know, I was somewhat able to accept gaining a few (a lot) pounds while actively fighting the binge problem by loosening my restrictions on food as suggested by the therapist and it really worked for some months. However, it appears to have been a waste of time (and my body) as I am right back where I started (being even closer to overweight than during the last critical period of time)

So apparently my mum thinks I’m anorexic and according to her, the best way to change this is forcing me to eat as much food as possible.

First of all, I am not anorexic. I have a rather fucked up attitude towards eating and food ~~(but I don’t do anything harmful or dangerous to my body besides some … other things – let’s not talk about that now~~) and guess what? Feeding me against my will only intensifies the negative feelings I get after eating which is sure as hell going to lead to me skipping even more meals when nobody notices.

Rant

Went to my cousin’s birthday party and almost had yet another breakdown because of, oh well, anxiety problems.

The rest of the evening did not go much better.

Yes, I know I ate too much. I didn’t mean to, but the last time ate something was fucking 13 hours ago, can you imagine how hungry I was?

And also, there isn’t really much else left to do when your anxiety problems make you hide in a corner (or on the toilet, always great to avoid family), yet your mother forces you to sit next to everyone and they are all watching you because “You are blushing!” – “Your face is so red!” ~~(it always is, that’s my natural facial color)~~ – “Why don’t you talk to your grandfather? Don’t be so rude!” – “What do you mean you can’t – don’t be ridiculous, you aren’t making any sense!”

And no, I will not go into detail about where all the scars come from, thanks a lot.

Also, will you PLEASE stop comparing me to her? I know damn well I am not as skinny, as pretty, as attractive, as fashionable, as confident, as creative, as independent, as caring, as witty, as popular, as PERFECT as her and constantly shoving that down my throat does not improve this situation at all.

And please, dear aunt number 2, I am aware that our antipathy for each other is mutual, but if you really want to complain about my “weird mannerisms”, my “awkwardness”, my weight and my “incompetence to hold a conversation with anyone” – do it when I am not sitting next to you.

Thank you very much for your attention.

I don’t like you.

You are the reason we can never do anything. You are the reason nobody can be happy without you spoiling it immediately. You are the reason why the three of us are constantly under so much pressure. You are the reason why I can’t tell her about my problems.

You are the reason I feel like shit, like a failure, like someone who has done nothing worth thinking of in their entire life. You and your constant habit of accidentally-on-purpose not understanding or hearing what I try to say are the reason for me having developed that stutter. You and your refusal to understand or acknowledge any form of humor are the reason why I have no idea how to survive conversations with anyone of my age. Your stubborn denying that not every human on earth is the same and that not everything a teenager should do is work all day without complaining or even flinching makes my developing depression grow faster and faster. Your refusing to “allow” me to do the one ever-so-small thing I’d like to do has been the thing that finally crashed my barely-existing self-confidence.

You refuse to listen to any attempt of conversation or mediation I try to start. You refuse to acknowledge I actually do have a thing called “free will”. You are the only one discriminating me for what I am and what I like, when you should be the last one to do so.

I realize you are somewhat stressed, but you deny it and STILL make everyone else feel even worse than you feel yourself. Seventeen years and you still are not over the fact that a child doesn’t act like a robot.

And so much more.

Only today I have started putting into words what I think of you. This is the beginning of speaking up. This is the end of silence. This is the end, no matter what it might cost. This is the end. It is you and me, and the beginning and the end.