Every time people want to talk about my eating disorder, my self-harm, my alcohol/drugs abuse, they always ask the same question: Why?
Everybody wants to know why, why do you do this to yourself, when did this start, what happened that made you this way. Simple questions, always accompanied by uncomfortable glances, nervous gestures. Simple questions, as if it were that easy. "Did you just wake up one morning and want to die?" they ask. "Why do you never talk?" they ask. "There must be a reason!" they say. "I don't know" I say. " I don't want to talk about it" I say. "It's nothing. I'm fine." I repeat it to myself until I almost believe it. Almost.
The answer is simple. It's hard to talk about. My father abused me from my 5th to my 23rd.
I was raped and as a teenager in a family with unstable parents and a lifetime filled with pressure to be outstanding and to take care of everybody else, I had nobody to talk to. I was going insane. I’m never good enough, a piece of dirt that deserves to die. My mother punished me emotionally and hit me. It was always my fault. Never good enough. A piece of shit. I’m worthless, a dirty, fat whale. I became sick. Still am. Crohn disease. Lots of operations and doctors with their dirty hands.
Suddenly my body didn't belong to me anymore, I was trapped in a stranger's body. I wanted out. I hate this body; I hate what happened to this body. I hate myself. I was determined to never let anybody get close to me ever again. I am a failure, because it happened again and again. My own fault.
Somehow I believe that by losing weight I would gain back the control of my life. That I would become invincible and no one could hurt me again. It didn't - I became weaker than I've ever been. I lost myself completely.
Out. Forget it, forget the memories and feelings, forget you've ever been touched. Out. Bleed it out, starve it, puke it, snort it, drink it, fuck it away.
Silence is my biggest enemy. Shame, guilt and silence. I took my thoughts out of my body, my poor body. I carved his words into my heart. I almost disappeared. Almost. Silence almost killed me.
This is an apology to my body. this is an apology for the years of abuse that I've put you through. I am sorry for hating you more passionately than the terrorists who destroy whole countries; I am sorry for making you the source of all my problems, you are not. I'm sorry for making you responsible for the things that happened to me, for the hate, pain and tears. I'm sorry for starving you, I am sorry for all the weeks and months and years you had to run on empty but still carried me forward. I am sorry for forcing you to dissolve and devour yourself because I refused to feed you, the one body I live in.
I am sorry for beating you, bruising you, I am sorry for the scars and cigarette wounds. I'm sorry for giving you away like supermarket plastic bags, for letting others hurt me because I thought you deserved it. Raped over and over again. You deserved it. I am sorry for xx lost kilograms, lost hair, lost nails, lost tears and feelings and lost life. I am sorry for every rip in my stomach, for every hunger pain, for every cL of alcohol in my bloodstream and every drug in veins, for every skipped heartbeat and every time my head hit the bathroom floor, for every protruding bone and every drip of blood in the toilet bowl.
Thank you for keeping me alive through all of this. Thank you for carrying on when I wanted to die... I still want, but you are my body; You deserve so much better than this.
lid van de cliëntenraad en is in behandeling bij Fier