Hi peeps, It’s been a hot minute since I’ve posted! But right now, I’m procrastinating from writing a lit review for my research today. So what a perfect time to unload some of my emotional baggage to a couple of strangers on the internet, hey?
It was the summer of 2014/2015 right after I had finished high school, exams done, atars had already been released, I knew what course I had gotten into and I had gotten my first job. Although I was barely rostered, it seemed like my life was coming together. I felt full and whole, and at peace with myself. Sort of.
It was the start of a dry summer here in Melbourne. Bright, blue cloudless skies. Longer days, sounds of cicadas in the early mornings with even more sweltering hot days to come. With really no purpose during that time, I was left to quietly think and ponder.
A few of you may know, I have lost weight since finishing high school. It was a conscious effort; I worked my ass off. It took about 3 months to shed a total of 8kg. The lowest weight I’ve ever been in my (short) adult life. I’ve kept it off since then, fluctuating as any other person would (54-56kg). Your mind takes a lot longer to catch up to the changes than you think. I would know. I’d be lying if I was happy with the way my body looks now.
Why did I do it then? Sure, it was for health reasons, I wanted to be healthier; I wanted to feel better, and I wanted to look better. I was constantly nagged to lose the flab, almost constantly that summer and quite frequently during my later high school career. It was shitty. I wanted it to stop. It had caused my self-esteem (what little I had) to plummet to a new all-time low. It was brutal.
‘til this very day, I’m too scared to go clothes shopping because I’m afraid I’ll get remarks that will throw me down a downward spiral of guilt, self-hate and disgust at myself. I remember I was offered to be taken to go and get a tailored áo dài (Vietnamese traditional dress) for a wedding, and I made up some lame excuse to avoid going.
I recall last year wearing a red gown (probably on my ig feed somewhere, if you scroll far down enough) for a uni commerce ball, and got ripped to shreds for looking “fat” in it and that I should go and return that dress the next day. Holding back tears, I ran up into my room (embarrassing to admit it even now) and balled my eyes out. It cuts pretty freaken deep.
Don’t tell me I’m thin or skinny or that I’m not fat. It won’t make a difference, because I won’t believe you anyway.
So what was the point of this all?
Maybe it’ll be a comfort to someone who understands how I feel.
Will it get better? Perhaps.