After yet another fight with Dad about allowing a cleaning service into the house (I feel absolute horror when I take notice of the filth, the stench of that house. I feel broken in spirit) Mom roused herself enough to say, “You know, you are very fat....again.”

 

It’s hilarious in a way -- like a playground fight.  I insulted their foul and disgusting home and she went right for the truth of my truth.  I’ve put on 20 pounds or so in the last year.  Yes, fat again.

 

The times in my life when I’ve lost weight were times when I felt that being physical was good, was pleasurable and connected me to someone (or at least the idea of someone).  Without that I use food as a cheap cover - I hide in it hoping to become invisible, invisible, invisible (funny that in our culture a fat woman is invisible while her tiny sister is not).

 

I have to find a way out of this though.  At the very least I have to take that weapon (that always hurts me) away from my Mom.  Why should she get to poke back at me whenever I poke at her?