*not a fashion or body positive post*

*Trigger Warning: Emotional, Physical abuse*

Here lies Not a story about rejection. It is a story of false hopes and despondence at times but it also is a story of strength and wisdom. And I will repeat this story until it’s time for me to embrace nothingness.  Before I could understand that the colour of my skin would have people make judgment and throw me into analysis paralysis, I was a carefree and quiet 6 year old girl walking into school with no idea why of how quickly I would learn the unwritten rules of my existence. When a Chinese girl sniffed at me and changed her seat in the bus, I was curious but not knowledgable. But by the time the children started to throw stones at me at 7, I knew what was wrong. 

I didn’t belong. There was something that wasn’t right about my colour. So when my English teacher took an extreme dislike to me, I wasn’t surprised. It was upsetting however to be hit by her and to stand in class until my knees trembled. When she wouldn’t let me go to the bathroom and so I peed myself, for which I got another beating. 

After a few months of being hurt by her and hiding it from my parents, the scars began to surface and I was unable to allay the concern of my parents with thin excuses. I was marched to school with my Father slapping the intention of a lawsuit on the teacher, who denied the goings-on until she realised dad was dead serious. But she pulled me aside one day and hissed “I will be watching You”, and she did – my body shook as I walked to the classroom blackboard while she stared black-demon eye like from the opposite room. 

When my body betrayed me and turned from waif-like to chubby, I was pushed farther back into the misfits fringe. Except I hadn’t made any friends yet. And my childhood heroes – my mom and dad – changed as the pressures of my growing years mounted. I grew afraid of them, unable to reconcile the parents of my early childhood to this infuriated new pair. 

The world began to seem so cruel. When the beatings at home began, I felt cheated. How could the same pair who stood up for me in school a few years ago have the heart to lay their hands on the same Daughter mercilessly? What had changed? They wanted to beat the living day lights out of the ADHD that made me tardy, forgetful and prone to losing my attention, becoming hyper for no apparent reason. They didn’t know what the problem was and attributed it to my personality, my being. 

Each time I was snubbed by a schoolmate, a teacher or parents…I blamed myself. I would put on a smile or wipe my tears, walk away quietly. There must be something not quite right about me, I thought. 

When the self-loathing manifested completely, I was in the throes of puberty. Confused by my attraction towards both boys and girls, grades sinking further than they ever had. What I Had control over was my food intake and exercising – which I controlled fiercely. 

Out of secondary school, I was avoided for being odd. Nothing new. For sporting a crew cut (maybe she’s a lesbian they said), For neglecting to watch my weight (Hello Depressive episode number 1, you succeeded in throwin out the bulimia for a while), For being lousy at my grades and absolutely disinterested in living. 

My heart had gotten broken so many times by then. Trampled upon and crushed. And I had no hope. I lumbered around thinking of ways to die. Running into the middle of the road when the traffic light turns red. Smashing myself against walls (which I did) again and again until my lips split open. Cutting myself and trying to cut off that vein so I’d just die already. Bleeding through my pants, period soaked panties because I didn’t care. Tearing at my skin and slapping myself. Breaking household objects. Bringing the cane or belt to my dad when it was ‘time to be punished’ for bad behaviour or bad grades. He hit me and I rolled my eyes. 

I did not learn to value or respect myself until much, much later. I rejected myself more than anyone could. I got there before anyone could. 

Why am I telling you this? 

There is a point. I am Still rejected by different people every day. My heart and mind have taken quite the beating over 3 decades. So being ‘rejected’ by fat shamers? That’s like batting eyelids with slight dust in them, a slight annoyance and hurt but nothing permanent. 

BUT I have met people who see me and see more than anyone has. Who actually like my company, value my opinions, love my smile, want to trade hugs and share life stories or swap jokes. Who *gasp* love me in my weirdness. 

And although social media is something I will always have a love and hate relationship with..

And although I will always be a misfit.. 

And although some may want to associate themselves with me for their personal gains, or Some will just never ever comprehend the workings of this soul, 

This is Not a rejection story. 

Not anymore. Neither is Yours. 

If you feel lost and disillusioned by people, you are not alone. I am reminding myself today with this post not to lose sight of the bigger picture while attending to the little details – and the bigger picture my darling, is that We are so much more than what people have taught us about ourselves. I am learning to undo those cruel lessons and while some days I wish so hard there could be an instant remedy, it takes patience and it takes love. I am living proof of survival and strength and love. 

I took a hiatus from social media because it can seem so vapid. There was nothing, nobody there calling to me to make a connection or learn something of consequence. While it is a place to grow as a blogger and a fat person looking for communities to belong to, my god it can get on my nerves. Aside from liking posts, writing comments, responding to messages…it has felt monotonous of late and there is way too much passive-aggression ( I LOATHE it) for me to handle. Text messages, social media – all full of passive aggression. They’re curses and boons. It’s been very productive to be on social media and wield positivity over it but it feels as if things are getting a lot less friendly and to be honest it is relieving to be away from it. It’s become a Monster of sorts to have to deal with, even though it has also been a blessing. It’s a push and pull affair with it constantly. Maybe that is how it will always be? 

I have never felt that way about blogging. With blogging it just feels simpler (unless you’re really popular). Having that history of rejection and being treated like a misfit still translates in social media. It isn’t a proper in-person interaction but it does require social skills and energy that sometimes I just do not have. Especially this year. Not with losing friends – that pain cut me real deep. It kept my nights away from sleep. It was a big blow to my equilibrium; when you don’t want to cut people off but they’re too toxic for your good. I’ve  been a real fool thanks to my  heart, who still tends to take a chance on people despite it all. 

And here was another lesson in rejection that I am learning now. It has pulled me under a few times this year but let’s be realistic now. It’s not the end of the world. This is not my first heartbreak. 

Sometimes when you keep ploughing through your days and stop the healing process because life gets in the way, the hurt comes hurtling towards you in a gigantic snowball. I can see that is the problem here. 

While I navigate through my new lease of life with Curves Become Her, I aim to resume the healing process now and get on with life. Social media may be a pain but it’s not The problem like I thought. 

A lot of times, my introspective writing is about catharsis and finding meaning as I type. So if I have confused you I am so sorry Lol!!! But this was so necessary for me. Just be kind with your comments, yes? 

Chat Soon 

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: introspective, life, personal