The root of my fat: Part 1

I have gone to a therapist enough in the past that I can sort through my issues and name them. There has always been a disconnect between naming my issues and working through them. My fat is definitely an issue and through this process of losing weight I am working through it. The beginning of working through any issue is to find the root of the issue and articulate it verbally. For me, it is important to articulate it in writing. There are many roots to my fat. One root occurred when I was in the fourth grade. I really wanted a birthday party that I could invite all of my friends to. My mother, whom I lived with at the time, put a lot of energy into planning my party. I wrote out invitations for about 20 friends. To save money, my mother decided to hand deliver them one day instead of mailing them out. I stayed home because my mom had other errands to run after. That night I couldn’t sleep because my mom hadn’t come home yet; it was midnight. I started calling some bars that I knew that she went to. My mom was a drug addict and an alcoholic, so I figured I was on the right track. One of the bartenders that I called put my mom on the phone. She was drunk, and I knew that she shouldn’t drive home. I walked from our house to the bar which was about a mile away. I walked into the bar and the bartender recognized me (no, this wasn’t the first time I had to do this) and pointed to my mother who was in the corner making out with this guy who wasn’t my stepdad. She got mad at me for coming to get her. She yelled at me telling me that I was the daughter and she was the mother. I told her to act like it then, and I walked out. I waited outside because I knew that she would follow, but I never expected the make-out guy to come out too. He offered to give us a ride home because my mother was drunk. I just wanted us to walk home, but my mother was too far gone to walk. She opened up the door to the backseat and lied down, which left the front seat next to make-out guy for me. I climbed in very hesitantly and started to tell the guy how to get to our house. As he was driving he kept looking back to check on my mom. I started to hear her breathing slow, so I knew she was falling asleep. It was at that time that the guy put his hand on my leg. He said that I was beautiful; I was the skinniest I remember being at that time. He said that I would be turning into a woman soon, and it would be hard for me to keep the boys away. He tried to touch me more and I pulled away while also pushing his hand away. He went to reach for my chest and I bit his hand. He slapped me in the face. I made him pull over by screaming. He dumped me out about halfway home. As I started walking, I saw him pull over again and my mother stumbled out of the car. I ran up to her and helped her walk home. She yelled at me the whole way for being mean to make-out guy. It was my fault that we were walking, according to her. When we got home I changed her, got her water, an aspirin, and then tucked her in. I went to bed and fell quickly asleep after that. About a week later it was my birthday. I got up and put on my new birthday outfit. I helped my mom decorate the house, and finish my beautiful birthday cake. My party was to start at 1:00 PM, and at 3:00 when no one had showed up I picked up my birthday cake and a fork and I ate the whole thing. I sat alone outside eating my entire birthday cake and crying. How is it that not one of my friends came? Didn’t anyone like me other than make-out guy? It wasn’t until about two weeks later that I found out why no one came. I was in my mom’s closet looking for a purse to use when I picked up a purse from the bottom of the closet to find the stack of invitations that my mother had said that she delivered. It seems that she went straight to the bar that day instead. My mother wasn’t home when I found them. I thought about taking them out and putting them on the kitchen table so she would know that I knew, but that was a pretty fruitless idea. It wouldn’t change her. I just wasn’t as important as the drinking was. So, instead, I went to the kitchen and started making dinner. At dinnertime, when my mother again wasn’t home, I ate the whole thing. Food has always been there. Food was constant when everything around me was in turmoil. I didn’t want boys to touch me like make-out guy did, so getting fat started to look pretty good. At some point fat went from a safety mechanism into my reality. I am losing it now, the fat and the self-loathing that I felt. It’s a process, but it’s important to name the root and let it go, so I do. I let go of anger towards my mother. I let go of the fear of being loved. I let go of trying to please others. I let go of everything that this memory brings, and I grab a hold of what I know to be true now. I am strong! I deserve happiness! I am loved! (278)