More Labels


Why do we feel the need to label? Why do we judge so harshly?  We don’t know what that person has been through. We don’t know their story. How dare people bully and tease and label.

It’s partly because of bullies that I am here in the first place. One of the factors. Fat. Ugly. The boys picked on me mercilessly and the one I had a crush on turned me down in favour of a skinny ‘it’ girl. She was the one everyone wanted, not fat and ugly me.

Even my own family…my gran prodding my stomach, “are you sure you want that second helping?” My mothers binge disorder, use of laxatives, constant dieting. My dad eating all the time, junk, fat; and then trying to feed everyone around him. The emotional abuse wasn’t only at school either, my dad even called me stupid, evil, “look at the devil in her eyes”. Kicking holes in my doors, throwing stuff, not allowing me to live because life is dangerous: you’ll fall on those rollerblades. No horse riding because horses can kill you. No you can’t go out because you’ll die. Someone will feed you drugs and you’ll die or get raped. Don’t trust anyone. Don’t trust life.

I shouldn’t blame. It’s not blame…it’s realising how labels have got me to where I am. My own labels keep me here: fat, failure, useless, sick, borderline, out of control, strange, dreamer, OCD, IBS, anxiety disorder, nutcase, loose cannon. Unloveable and a burden.

Now if only I could figure out how to shed these, how to not believe them. Stupid labels. Nasty bullies. Damn you Ana.


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