Fatal Impact

What The Doctor Ordered

From as far back as I can remember, the slight remarks that my parents would make made me hate myself. I was never once happy with the way I looked, and my parents never noticed. I tried my best to make my parents happy, to make them proud of me. Though no matter what I did, and no matter how hard I tried, I never seemed to succeed in doing that.

With the comments they would make all the time, it seemed like they were never happy with the way I looked either. They never even attempted to give me compliments when I tried to dress up and make myself look nice.

They were always comparing me to my younger sister. They compared our grades; "Your sister studies all the time and look how well she's doing in school." They compared out social lives; "Why don't you go out with your friends this weekend? You're sister is always out somewhere with friends." They even compared our eating habits; "You and your sister are such opposites when it comes to food. She's such a healthy eater don't you think?"

They didn't seem to realise just how much it hurt to be compared to someone who they viewed as perfect.

Although starving myself was doing good for my weight, it wasn't at all good for every other aspect of my life. My energy level was the most effected aspect.

I became too exhausted to play any sport. My body was too weak and it only disappointed my parents when I ended up having to quit. I didn't have any energy left to stay up at night and study or finish homework, and I was falling asleep at school. My grades dropped because of it, which only upset my parents.

They never gave me any encouragement or praise for trying my best in sports, or trying my best to pass an exam or assignment. All I received were lectures and comments about how disappointed they were. How they expected so much more from me. How I wasn't doing my best, and that I could do so much better.

I started to realise that because they saw me every day, the changes in my body weren't all that significant to them until it became painfully obvious. It was only a few months after my sixteenth birthday that they actually started noticing that something was wrong.

I refused to look in any mirror, I never ate any full meals, if I ate anything at all, and when I look at photos of myself back then, I'm baffled as to how they didn't notice the awful changes that my body went through.

Of course they blamed me, though. It was my fault for being self conscious. "You shouldn't listen to those other girls, and you shouldn't pay attention to the models in those fashion magazines," they had said.

Maybe it was partly my fault. Maybe I just wasn't a strong enough person to prove them wrong in the correct, healthy ways. However, it was wrong of them to assume that their comments and judgmental behaviour weren't a contributing factor to my eating disorder.

After numerous failed attempts at helping me get better, they were reaching the end of their rope. Much like I had a long time ago. They decided that it was best for me and my health that I get checked into the hospital.

I was in and out of the hospital for two years. My parents couldn't afford the specialist clinics, so I was just sent to a community hospital, where I also had to see a therapist.

I hated it in there. They were so understaffed for a majority of the time. They were so busy trying to help every single person that was were, that they barely had time to properly nurse everyone back to health. It was definitely hard for them to give us the help and attention that we desperately needed. 

Due to this, I quickly realised that if I pretended I was fine for just a little while, and told the therapist some of my problems, they would think I was better and let me go home. Then I would go back to living my life how I wanted. Without any pressure from nurses and doctors telling me that if I didn't fix it, I would end up killing myself.

                                                                  ~ * ~

"It's all their fault, you know?" I said to my therapist. My rope had burned out and the bomb of anger exploded within me. It was time to stop making up excuses and lies in my therapy sessions.

He looked at me thoughtfully for a moment. "Who's fault is it?" He finally said. I didn't answer him until he said, "whatever you say in this room is between you and me. No one else will know."

"My parents," I began. "I wouldn't be like this if it wasn't for them and their degrading comments. I was seven years old and my mum told me that I was getting chubby. Who says that to a seven year old? I did everything I could to make them happy. I starved myself for years, and worked myself to the bone in my physical activities and nothing worked!"

Once I started, I couldn't stop and everything was finally coming out. "They think it was the magazines and bullies at school that did this to me, but they're wrong! They told me I was lazy and chubby. Well guess what? This little missy isn't getting chubby anymore!"

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~Alyssa