I’ve been fat basically all my life.

Around kindergarten or so my parents realized that it wasn’t baby fat any more and that maybe, just maybe me opening the pantry lock on multiple occasions and using a chair to reach the peanut butter jar and shove as much of it into my mouth without a drink until I got caught might be a warning sign. But rather than investigate for any nutrient deficiencies or mental issues their autistic child was going through they decided to start putting me on trend diets. I’m assuming they felt a pang of guilt making a small child go on adult diets, so they would also go on the same diets. Instead of motivating me it would just make me feel worthless whenever the diets worked on them but not me. I remember a few months where they would have me pack a can of slimfast for lunch and then by the time I got home I’d be starving and scarf down whatever was in the pantry. The diets would change about every year or so, and so I ended up having weight fluctuations while my overall weight increased. I remember my mom crying one day about my weight being 150 pounds before I even reached middle school and then yelling “YOU WANT TO LOSE WEIGHT, DON’T YOU?” and telling her that her and dad were the ones who wanted me to lose weight. They’d guilt me about being fat every chance they got. The only thing that worked in my childhood wasn’t diets but being forced to go to a gym and lift weights for half a year. Muscle really does help burn weight. But then I hit high school and because grades always come first we all forgot about the gym and the weight bounced back. Eventually I was able to drive my own car in high school and that’s when my weight fucking skyrocketed.

So I’m an adult now and I’ve realized that I have both a physical and mental need to over eat. I’ve used food as a coping mechanism since I was a toddler, and that only increased as I continued to push down my autistic self and replace it with someone that can pass as just a little odd. I know that I need therapy, but I also know that I need to keep my finances in check and that therapy might end up being as expensive as a second car even with health insurance because I live in the fucking U.S.A. and with covid I can’t even work overtime to put extra money into savings. I feel like I’m so close to getting professional help and yet part of me always pulls my arm back and says “Next year might be even worse financially, yet you already know what it’s like to be fat. You’re still young, you can gamble on your health a little longer. Bad finances could fuck over your credit score and ability to rent for years to come.” Like FUCK, why do I have to pick???

Guess I’ll just continue to cope until I can afford professional help.

:amerikkka: :amerikkka: :amerikkka: