inconvenient for me. I had never noticed up until this point how almost everything we do while socialising with other people revolves around food. Whether it was coffee and lunch with girlfriends, drinking on a night out with a crowd or having a movie night with close companions – which would finish with the inevitable phone call to order pizza or Chinese food – it seemed impossible to avoid eating while keeping company. It also demanded better excuses. ‘I already ate’, ‘I’m not very hungry’ and ‘I’ve gone off that stuff’ didn’t really cut it after a time. I was eventually forced to become a little more honest, if not altogether sneakier.
I told friends a half-truth and informed them I was trying a new, very strict diet, in which I ate three meals a day. Obviously, snacking while with friends was unacceptable and this very simple excuse bought me some leeway from their probing questions. It didn’t, however, buy me much with time and I was required to spend as much time with them as I had always done. If not to stay out of the house for longer periods, then simply to solidify a perfect facade that all was well and normal.
If keeping distance from my friends was difficult, it was even harder to do so from my family. Though we were in general a family that enjoyed our space, we lived in a small bungalow and were usually on top of one another. There was only so long I could shut myself away in my bedroom without drawing attention or concern. I used to do that as a child when something was wrong. Throughout my years of bullying, in particular, shame would drag me into a crevice in my bedroom and firmly shut the door behind me. The trait was unmistakable even at the age of 18 and I knew it wouldn’t take long for my mother to begin her interrogative inquiries. I had to be more careful about the way in which I carried myself and conducted my behaviour.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, upon the throne of my internal hive, she seemed to always be one step ahead of me. And rightly so, as she knew better than I and we were both aware of this. Had it just been me living in my own head at the time, I probably would have tactlessly retreated from everyone and everything in my life, as was the usual case in such circumstances of turmoil. But this time would be different because I wasn’t alone. While I sat at the driver seat, she controlled the hands at the wheel and steered me right into the heart of all undesired company. Compared to my naivety, she was a craftswoman and played games with meticulous strategy. And while directing my course was the overall objective, making it as undetectable as possible was part of the game.
For a while, she did this very well and I found myself catering both to her demands and the social standards of everyone else. I started living two lives; the one in my head that fed off both my thoughts and my body, and then the one I was required to live. The latter was little more than a pretence, a necessary fabrication that enabled me to operate in my secret hive as I pleased. I had been playing a juggling game for weeks now, since I had finished the milkshakes and I was getting better at it. Of course there had been slip-ups. There were times when I simply couldn’t find a way out of eating but I was reassured each time that tomorrow would be better. At first, she was soothing in this way. Every time I steered off-track, she would scorn me most severely with stringent words and undesirable truths before finally comforting me, telling me that every mistake would only accelerate me forward in my ambitions. More importantly, I started to understand that her somewhat brutal manner and verbal persuasion were crucial to our goals. It was as if I needed to be stripped of everything I had been before then. If she could break me down enough, then I would have no choice but to do everything she wished of me. If you make anyone – even yourself – feel bad enough about what they are, they
I told friends a half-truth and informed them I was trying a new, very strict diet, in which I ate three meals a day. Obviously, snacking while with friends was unacceptable and this very simple excuse bought me some leeway from their probing questions. It didn’t, however, buy me much with time and I was required to spend as much time with them as I had always done. If not to stay out of the house for longer periods, then simply to solidify a perfect facade that all was well and normal.
If keeping distance from my friends was difficult, it was even harder to do so from my family. Though we were in general a family that enjoyed our space, we lived in a small bungalow and were usually on top of one another. There was only so long I could shut myself away in my bedroom without drawing attention or concern. I used to do that as a child when something was wrong. Throughout my years of bullying, in particular, shame would drag me into a crevice in my bedroom and firmly shut the door behind me. The trait was unmistakable even at the age of 18 and I knew it wouldn’t take long for my mother to begin her interrogative inquiries. I had to be more careful about the way in which I carried myself and conducted my behaviour.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, upon the throne of my internal hive, she seemed to always be one step ahead of me. And rightly so, as she knew better than I and we were both aware of this. Had it just been me living in my own head at the time, I probably would have tactlessly retreated from everyone and everything in my life, as was the usual case in such circumstances of turmoil. But this time would be different because I wasn’t alone. While I sat at the driver seat, she controlled the hands at the wheel and steered me right into the heart of all undesired company. Compared to my naivety, she was a craftswoman and played games with meticulous strategy. And while directing my course was the overall objective, making it as undetectable as possible was part of the game.
For a while, she did this very well and I found myself catering both to her demands and the social standards of everyone else. I started living two lives; the one in my head that fed off both my thoughts and my body, and then the one I was required to live. The latter was little more than a pretence, a necessary fabrication that enabled me to operate in my secret hive as I pleased. I had been playing a juggling game for weeks now, since I had finished the milkshakes and I was getting better at it. Of course there had been slip-ups. There were times when I simply couldn’t find a way out of eating but I was reassured each time that tomorrow would be better. At first, she was soothing in this way. Every time I steered off-track, she would scorn me most severely with stringent words and undesirable truths before finally comforting me, telling me that every mistake would only accelerate me forward in my ambitions. More importantly, I started to understand that her somewhat brutal manner and verbal persuasion were crucial to our goals. It was as if I needed to be stripped of everything I had been before then. If she could break me down enough, then I would have no choice but to do everything she wished of me. If you make anyone – even yourself – feel bad enough about what they are, they
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