**My life has changed since I first wrote this story, which was when I first started my tumblr blog. This is what happened back in 2009. Things have changed since then, but I wanted to keep the raw, unedited diary entry because it’s an experience and memory that speaks the truth of its time; I don’t feel is right to change. I feel it is right to embrace it for what it was.

*This draft has been unedited

Rough Draft:

Chapter: depression and anxiety

My parents are strict and controlling; they have different values and beliefs, and, thinking they are righteous, they impose their will upon us; my little brother, sister, and I. I am expected to be what they want me to be; my opinion was not relevant. Everything went for the worse when I started becoming independent. When I made a personal decision to start eating healthier and exercising, which is something they frown upon, their abuse augmented, which lead to…pain, scars, threats and destruction.

I grew up as a child in what I think was a superficial and oppressive society. All my life, I’ve felt as though I am bound by rules and merely watching myself live out my family’s ideals. When I was four, my parents made it pretty clear the best job in the world is being a doctor. They honor jobs in high positions for their knowledge, social standing(well respected by the population), and wealth. As a child, I wanted to gain their approval so I strived to please them. Being the best of the best pleased them like nothing else; I put myself in constant competition, especially in school. Sometimes when I got a B on my test, I cried. It wasn’t good enough. Sometimes when I did something stupid, like forget my coat at school, or make a mistake, I got beat or yelled at. I was scared of my parents.

If you screw up, it’s over. My parents wouldn’t help you feel better—in fact, they’d make you feel even worse that it happened. No empathy, no comfort, no warmth, no reassurance that everything will be okay. They’d often snort and glare at me in disgust. My parents firmly believe in the teachings of punishment and use threats, warnings, and fear to manipulate you. I’ve never been taught out of the one essential element that nurtures us all; love. I often felt lost, crushed, alone, and left in the cold by them. I no longer stayed the obedient, submissive, pleasing child. One day, I grew up, opened my eyes and realized things were very wrong; my childhood has been permanently scarred. I was living in the shadows of their nature all this time. The one thing that hurts me the most is that what’s done is done. I cannot reverse time and undo the physical and mental ravage they’ve engraved in me. There’s this constant black thing whipping me around inside my head—…I…I cannot erase the past that has shaped the character I am now. I’m tainted. Haunted. Broken. I know there is still a spark, a fire—burning within me. It is that fire that awakened me, that fought back against my parents, that drives me to do the things I do. It’s the fire that’s kept me strong when they crushed me weak. Even so, the most ferocious things can be tamed, can be brainwashed, or even silenced. With the ongoing battles I face, the fire begins to burn out. I feel corruption poisoning my mind and I fear that soon the fire will die away as my heart freezes over. I see it in myself. I see it in the way I react to things and the way I treat my younger siblings. I don’t want to be cold hearted.

The biggest thing that’s shaped my adolescence happened when I hit my preteen years. I started hanging out with friends more. I liked a boy and he liked me back for the first time! Even so, I had trouble fitting in, being accepted, and the more rejected I felt, the more I started ate food to fill that emotional void. It brought me comfort, even though it was temporary comfort, it felt better than nothing.

As time went on, I grew heavier and heavier and felt more and more unhappy. Out of the blue one day, i decided to change. Something inside me snapped, like I suddenly woke up from a coma. I finally awakened, and changed my mind. I changed my mind on everything. I came to realize that the ways my parents taught were not kind, were not forgiving, but are destructive and sometimes very ignorant. Their nature is hard to understand; it’s more complicated than it sounds. I’ve tried talking to them to get through a message, but I’ve learned that they’ll never listen.

I wanted a new life, a new me. And so I started with my lifestyle. I started eating healthy and exercising—things I didn’t bother to do but should’ve been doing anyway at my age. I also reset my wardrobe and bought clothes that made my feel confident being me. And for a while, things were lookin’ good! Albeit I still felt like a misfit amongst friends and never had any made any “real” ones, I felt more comfortable about myself. Eventually my family noticed this physical and emotional change. They didn’t accept it and tried to put me back where they liked me. But this time, I put up a fight. A big fight. A fight that lasts till this very day. Things were lost and other things were broken. Our relationship is more strained than ever now that I wasn’t playing obedient and submissive. I am not going to let them dominate my own life anymore.

One thing led to another…and…my life started going downhill. While the abuse augmented, I allowed myself to get carried away with…unhealthy habits. I did harmful things to rebel them, which only hurt my body more. I was subconciously aware of this, but at the same time it didn’t matter; I was so angry with them, I’d jump off a bridge to win. One day I woke up and realized just how much I never wanted to wake up to see another day. My life with them was worse than a living hell. How much my soul ached for freedom, and the only place I could escape was sleep.

It got to a point where I considered permanent sleep. Thank goodness I was too cowardly—or strong, however you like to see it—to ever execute such a plan. Fast forward a few years filled with hospitals, psychologists, nurses, loss of friends, more abuse, crying, and self destruction. It is most traumatizing experience I’ve ever had.

Here I am now, starting fresh and new. I still battle for control every day, but I’m coping a lot better. I’ve developed a new found passion for fitness, running, health, singing, dancing, and acting. Now I embark on a new journey fueled by love, not by hate or pride.

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Chapter: Weight Loss

My family has always been gigantic consumers of food-especially junk food. Our dinner was well worth over 1300 calories! I never gave much thought to the way I ate. In fact, if I was bored, I ate. If I was sad or happy, I ate. Where I was, I just ate. The pounds packed on. I noticed by the time I had a little school party that I’ve gain approximately 10 pounds in just a little over a month. Don’t get me wrong—I still had a great time. It just wasn’t one of my proudest moments. I felt big. I might’ve had some stretch marks here and there, but hey—no big deal.

December 2009- I decided to shed some extra pounds. And so I cut back on all sugary foods, junk food, and started exercising. It wasn’t something I took too seriously. In a few months, the fat was starting to melt off. It was incredible how healthy eating and active living can do. The best part? I wasn’t trying too hard. It was one of the last things on my mind.

Around March 2010- My family started noticing. If there’s another thing you should know about them, it’s that they are terribly bitter.

My “father” has anger problems. To this day, he still physically abuses me every time I disobey. Whether that be choosing to eat an apple over some fried chicken, or not wearing my socks, he would raise the roof. First he’d threaten to kill me. Then he approaches and slaps me right across the face, pinches my nose and jerks me to the ground.

My “mother” is no better. Instead of physically abusing me, she does so verbally. Her words cut through like ice. And even though I know better than to let her get to me, there are some things I am desperate for, such as acting classes—something she does not support.

I’ve been living in hell for all my life. I have siblings. And I look upon them with pity. Pity that they were raised in this household. I feel like a mouse collecting cheese on a mousetrap because it’s my last resource of food. I’m desperate and I don’t know when the metal will snap, and if it’ll trap me. Living on constant fear.

And so, when they realized I was losing weight, the abuse augmented. It was as if they were hungry for my misery. They pushed me back every step of the way as I struggled to move forward to my goal. They yelled, screamed, smacked, punched, you name it, they’ve done it. And what enrages me the most wasn’t the fact that they watched me like an eagle(they still do) and shoved food down my throat, but it was the fact that they were so unsupported. I’ve never felt so misunderstood.

I am:

• Stubborn
• Unyielding
• Determined
• Rebelious & prideful
• Impulsive

And that’s the way I’ve always been. If you tell me to do something, I’ll do the exact opposite and vice versa. I accept challenges and face them head on. I fucking put up a helluva fight. Headstrong, my ‘father’ used to say with a bombastic voice.

That’s where it all spirals downwards. I’ve reached my goal, I was happy with my shape. But at home, my mood was entirely different. One lovely afternoon, I looked in the mirror at home. I loved my body. I loved my confidence. I looked…good, and I wasn’t going to change that. But a dark feeling washed over me. I wasn’t happy. In fact it was such a struggle between me and my family to get into my current shape, that, I wanted….more. I wanted to win. I wanted to slap them in the face, indirectly. I wanted more weight loss. To show them they couldn’t stop me from achieving anything!

I am going to lose more weight and show them who’s boss.

And so I did. If there was one way to feel any sense of comfort, or triumph at all, that would be the sweet taste of success, because success was my secret way of winning.  I felt victorious. Every time I looked at them: Haha! Screw you, and screw you. There’s no way you’re going to ruin my life. I won’t allow it.

I fasted, I starved and I knew it was stupid adn yet I didn’t care. Looking back, I regret this. I was so ravenous to do something to oppose them.

September 2010- My day of devastation. First day back at school. I wore my favourite clothing—a dress shirt, a belt, and some tights. I was looking forward to going—it was like an 8 hour vacation from home. I’d see my buddies again!

Taking one step out the door, my father rudely shoved past infront of me and blocked the door way. My “mother” approached behind me. I felt confined in a tiny space between two people I could not stand. Together they dropped the bomb: I was going to an inpatient unit for Eating Disorders.

They might as well have stabbed me a thousand times.

Long story short, I went to the inpatient unit. I was devastated. I had lost the battle. How could I? How the hell could I? I promised myself victory once again, one way or another. They were going to pay. Big time.

I went into shock. I felt traumatized. I was emotionally unstable. I felt like exploding all the time. My throat was tight and I could hardly chew anything down. I couldn’t feel hunger; I felt sick. I cried myself to sleep and I was aching and dying inside. The doctors prescribed a happy pill for me to take. I did, but it had no effect. They caused me to self destruct and I couldn’t stop.

I’m going to be brutally honest: The doctors were absolutely horrible. I didn’t bother explaining the truth to the situation to them, but let them conclude that I had a serious eating disorder. I didn’t see the point in fighting with them when half the time they don’t bother to even understand you. Because the thing is, when you’re diagnosed with an eating disorder, your opinions are irrelevant to the medical staff.

After gaining weight, I am currently in outpatient. I cannot help but feel so enraged.

I could’ve stopped losing weight as easily as I have started. It was my deep pain and hate for my family that drove me to pursue my efforts to rebel them, to keep losing it, to piss them off—to ultimately seek revenge. And feel a sense of triumph—even if that was a fake one.

I’ve never won with my family. Not at a single argument, a physical battle, nothing.

Therefore, I don’t believe they have done the right thing and sent me to a hospital ward, when they were the source of it all. I didn’t learn a thing there. I was a misfit. Nothing was solved. I don’t have an eating disorder.

And that’s how this blog came to be.

I plan to lose the weight healthily after a weigh in. During this period I make sure I save enough time to regain what I lost before the next appointment.

I think I’ll find happiness and freedom soon. I’m doing this for me. I’m embarking on this fitness journey for my own happiness, driven by my passion, not hatred.

Through pain, through tears, through rage, despair and darkness, I’ll keep reaching out my hand into the dark, lost abyss. Hoping that somebody, anybody will grab it, and pull me into the light.

At least, I am crossing my fingers ever so tightly.