Trigger warning! content contains sensitive topics. The Fats of Life, part 4

I

f You Can't Love Yourself, How are you gonna love somebody else or let them love you?

I was 9 or 10 the first time a relative stranger voiced an opinion on what I should do with my body. Corey told me my boobs were jiggling and I should wear a bra. I hadn't started gaining weight just a normal start of puberty body changes, and here was this boy already telling me what to do about it. I was embarrassed and felt like I was in the wrong, body comments start young for girls.

As my body changed I got more embarrassed by it. I didn't want to be going through puberty, I didn't want to have boobs and I didn't want to be the first girl in my class to do so.

Boys would "accidentally" touch my breasts or try to look down my top, one boy even followed me into the girls' toilets to keep touching me. I was 11 and I never told my teacher because I was skipping class and thought I would get in trouble. Funny I only remember that incident because the class I skipped was when they decided to have a class party for a student teacher who was leaving. My teacher never bothered to tell me and no one from class mentioned it. I wasn't going to school the day of the party but when I found out it was being held that day I had my mother ring and tell the school I would be starting late. I wanted to go so I could eat the yummy food, I was beginning to look forward to eating. Food was bringing me comfort. While I felt awkward and ill at ease in my own body as it stretched, thickened and expanded, I started to feel like an outsider. As my body changed I felt my worth to other people did too.

I felt like nothing but a joke, a punchline, the girl who was friends with boys but never a girlfriend. Ben was happy enough for my advice and hugs while he was feeling me up without my noticing. Tim was loving making out and getting his hands down my school jersey, but only when no one could see. I was the fat girl, the fat girl didn't get boyfriends.

The first guy I loved, and who I thought loved me, broke my heart. I never really understood the emotional pain of a broken heart until I needed him and he wasn't there and I found out about his lies. But when we were together he made me feel beautiful and he didn't care about my weight. For one of the first times in my life, I felt normal. I was 27 years old and I felt like finally a man was seeing my true worth and it had nothing to do with what I looked like.

I read a story about a woman who made multiple false rape accusations. A picture of her was included in the article, she was a larger woman. I read through the comments and easily 90% of them were comments of who would rape that. How could anyone want to, she's too fat to be raped etc. Very few of the comments were people being outraged at how false accusations can make it harder for true victims to come forward. It was mostly weight-based hatred.

I am a survivor of rape and my size had nothing to do with it. I was fat when it happened. The rapist does it for power and control, and being fat doesn't help you fight them off either. It didn't for me, he told me "I know this hurts but I'm so proud of you". It was the day after my 29th birthday. Afterwards, he told me no one would believe me if I told because "who would want to rape you". So I never reported him. He cleverly played on my fears and insecurities. For a while I was almost honoured and proud he picked me. That he wanted to have sex with me so badly that he forced me. Like I was being treated as a normal desirable woman.

I was so angry and sickened with myself that I could even think like that. So I began to eat more and more, it was both a comfort and a punishment. Of course, eventually, I got some counselling and realised there was no need to punish myself. But I was bigger than ever and even more used to comfort myself with food which is a relationship I struggle with to this day.

Food has become my only constant, and it terrifies me.