As the adults in my life sat in my mother’s house drinking, my uncle would tell everyone how he put my baby picture under his bed in Barlinnie (the local jail in Glasgow) to frighten the mice. Then he would go on to tell everyone I was that fat it took half an hour for anyone to realise I had peed myself due to the rolls of lard it had to go through.
I’m laughing just now actually putting this on the screen and can see now why a lot of drunk adults thought it was funny. I just didn’t think it was funny. I was a kid. Kids are sensitive. I would cry inside every time I heard the story, I heard it a lot throughout the years. If my eyes welled up then he would go on to say, “and you never noticed her cry as my cheeks where so fat all the tears built up till it was like a waterfall.” He was a twat.
At a very young age I learned not to cry in front of people, and if I ate, it made me fat. My mum would pipe in saying my Beth will be good looking one day. I would always wish for that day, it never seemed to come as the story continued to get told and I would always feel the same way, fat and ugly.
I guess it is no real surprise that I ended up with an eating disorder and body distortion issues. Food became my enemy and my only friend. I used food to block out parts of my life, it has taken me till today to actually realise how toxic our relationship was. I did not want to eat, and my mum would always force me. I soon learned how to get attention in our ever expanding family. I would hide food anywhere and everywhere as long as i did not have to eat it.
Our house was never empty. My mum always had one of her family living with us. Her dad lived with us and slept in the living room, sometimes it was her sister and her two kids. Then when I was about 10 her brother and his 2 kids moved in (the one who told the stories about me). Joe's partner had been in an accident and was in hospital for about 2 years. So, there was my mum, dad and uncle Joe and us five kids living in a 2 bedroom flat.
Food was my only friend, the only bit of control I had.
I think of my childhood all the time, and wonder how I got through it, and how I became the person I have. I don’t have many good memories of being a child but remember the stories I was told and how they made me feel. My family always laughed at me and I just accepted that was how it was. I was the wee fat people pleaser who never went to school.
You see, I was deemed as stupid, and was forever losing things, especially money. But I still kept getting sent to the shops to lose the money, and I still kept getting hit for doing it. I tried so hard to get to the shops and still have that money in my hand. I would hold it so tight with my left hand wrapped round my right one, and when I got to the shop the money was gone, it was like magic. The feeling of dread started as I knew what was going to happen, I was scared and could not understand how I could have lost it, it was in my hand, not in my pocket where it could have fell out. My mother was going to batter me as she always did, parents shouldn’t hit their kids.
Why did she not love me?