'I thought if I was fat nobody could see that I was evil'
Girls who are sexually abused in childhood are more likely to become obese when they grow up. Like many women, Pauline Sharp used binge-eating as a coping strategy, wearing her 24-stone weight as a "mask, providing padding from the outside world".
I can barely remember the taste of anything I ate as a child. For the 17 years I endured emotional and physical abuse at the hands of my parents, every one of my senses was http://24wikiss.blogspot.com/numbed. When you are in survival mode, you don't feel anything.
My family home looked like any dull suburban detached house, but inside it was hell. It was my father who carried out most of the abuse, but my mother was completely under his control. She had to be waiting by the door with his briefcase when he left the house in the morning and have dinner on the table for him when he got home. Whatever she cooked, it was never meant to be enjoyed by me.
At the dining table, I was told by my father that I was poisonous and lucky to be fed at all. At dinner, I would sit in silence carefully eating my mother's pies, trying not to drop pastry crumbs. I was terrified to say anything that might upset them. I believed if I could just be "good" for my parents I could win their love, but that never happened.
When I was "naughty" they wouldn't let me have any food, so I would resort to stealing whatever I could get my hands on. I remember being so desperate I scraped a piece of chewing gum from the playground to eat. I would stash cheese, slices of bread and tomatoes and eat them in secret in my bedroom. If they caught me, I would suffer for it. My parents never needed much of an excuse to punish me. I am sure they made things up. If I didn't make my bed properly or if I was five minutes late from school I could be hit with a wooden spoon, cut, burned or sexually abused depending on how my father felt that day. They would use food to ritually humiliate me. One morning, I was fed porridge that made me sick and my mother forced me to eat my own vomit. I still struggle with the shame of those memories.
My parents strictly forbade me from visiting other people's houses, but one day I was allowed to go to my friend's house. There was laughter and noise and it smelled of warm biscuits. I can remember thinking how odd it was that the children could open the fridge without being punished. I didn't dare go anywhere near it.
After decades of being sexually abused by my father and other men, I failed to escape their emotional control, until, aged 22, I left my parents' house for a job as a nanny in Canada. I flew as far away as I could, but I was never really free from them.
I tried to build a "normal" life away from my parents. I was convinced I was gaining control, but with them living inside my head, I began forming more destructive habits.
Since the age of eight, I had abused my body. I was always told it was full of poison and wanted to inflict as much damage on it as I could. Alongside the self-harm, I started drinking heavily and mindlessly, frantically gorging on food.
My father made me believe everyone was watching me, that people could see that I was rotten. I was trying everything in my power to cover it up. Being fat was all part of the cover-up. "I'm already ugly," I thought, "so why not make it a double whammy? Then people really won't want to know me."
When I was feeling low I would order Indian food and eat it in my bedroom. I would look at the piles of curry and rice in front of me and say to myself: "I don't want to do this, but I need to do this." When I had finished bingeing, I would feel a split-second rush of relief from the pain my parents had inflicted on me. I'd do anything to feel something. I would eat and eat until I felt sick and ashamed. Then, a few hours later, I would start eating again.
Munere veritus fierent cu sed, congue altera mea te, ex clita eripuit evertitur duo. Legendos tractatos honestatis ad mel. Legendos tractatos honestatis ad mel.
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Munere veritus fierent cu sed, congue altera mea te, ex clita eripuit evertitur duo. Legendos tractatos honestatis ad mel. Legendos tractatos honestatis ad mel.
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Girls who are sexually abused in childhood are more likely to become obese when they grow up. Like many women, Pauline Sharp used binge-eating as a coping strategy, wearing her 24-stone weight as a "mask, providing padding from the outside world".
I can barely remember the taste of anything I ate as a child. For the 17 years I endured emotional and physical abuse at the hands of my parents, every one of my senses was http://24wikiss.blogspot.com/numbed. When you are in survival mode, you don't feel anything.
My family home looked like any dull suburban detached house, but inside it was hell. It was my father who carried out most of the abuse, but my mother was completely under his control. She had to be waiting by the door with his briefcase when he left the house in the morning and have dinner on the table for him when he got home. Whatever she cooked, it was never meant to be enjoyed by me.
At the dining table, I was told by my father that I was poisonous and lucky to be fed at all. At dinner, I would sit in silence carefully eating my mother's pies, trying not to drop pastry crumbs. I was terrified to say anything that might upset them. I believed if I could just be "good" for my parents I could win their love, but that never happened.
When I was "naughty" they wouldn't let me have any food, so I would resort to stealing whatever I could get my hands on. I remember being so desperate I scraped a piece of chewing gum from the playground to eat. I would stash cheese, slices of bread and tomatoes and eat them in secret in my bedroom. If they caught me, I would suffer for it. My parents never needed much of an excuse to punish me. I am sure they made things up. If I didn't make my bed properly or if I was five minutes late from school I could be hit with a wooden spoon, cut, burned or sexually abused depending on how my father felt that day. They would use food to ritually humiliate me. One morning, I was fed porridge that made me sick and my mother forced me to eat my own vomit. I still struggle with the shame of those memories.
My parents strictly forbade me from visiting other people's houses, but one day I was allowed to go to my friend's house. There was laughter and noise and it smelled of warm biscuits. I can remember thinking how odd it was that the children could open the fridge without being punished. I didn't dare go anywhere near it.
After decades of being sexually abused by my father and other men, I failed to escape their emotional control, until, aged 22, I left my parents' house for a job as a nanny in Canada. I flew as far away as I could, but I was never really free from them.
I tried to build a "normal" life away from my parents. I was convinced I was gaining control, but with them living inside my head, I began forming more destructive habits.
Since the age of eight, I had abused my body. I was always told it was full of poison and wanted to inflict as much damage on it as I could. Alongside the self-harm, I started drinking heavily and mindlessly, frantically gorging on food.
My father made me believe everyone was watching me, that people could see that I was rotten. I was trying everything in my power to cover it up. Being fat was all part of the cover-up. "I'm already ugly," I thought, "so why not make it a double whammy? Then people really won't want to know me."
When I was feeling low I would order Indian food and eat it in my bedroom. I would look at the piles of curry and rice in front of me and say to myself: "I don't want to do this, but I need to do this." When I had finished bingeing, I would feel a split-second rush of relief from the pain my parents had inflicted on me. I'd do anything to feel something. I would eat and eat until I felt sick and ashamed. Then, a few hours later, I would start eating again.
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