I’m Darcy. I’m 18. I’m morbidly obese. I’ve got serious medical conditions. I’ve been diagnosed with PCOS (poly-cystic ovary syndrome), Hirsutism (increased body hair, facial, back, abdominal, chest), Cushing’s syndrome, an under/over-active thyroid and infertility. My self-confidence and self-esteem have dropped drastically ever since I was around 7-8. I’ve always been bigger than other girls and I was wearing a woman’s size sixteen when I was 8/9/10. I can honestly say that I can not remember one time where I was skinny in my whole life except when I was about 5. Having the Hirsutism has caused me to be extremely self-conscious, because the first thing that people notice about me is that I have a beard and side-burns. They can’t help but to judge me because of that. Also, my weight has gotten to the point were I could probably be dead by the time I’m 30 if I don’t do anything about it. I’ve lost 10 kilograms in 3 months, but I need to lose more. Drastically. Having the medical conditions makes it very, very hard to lose weight but very, very easy to gain it. If I even eat a meal such as KFC or McDonald’s, I could very well gain 2-3 kilos just from that. Despite the fact that I hate myself and what I look like and everything to do with me, my boyfriend loves me and thinks that I’m beautiful. I remember the day I told him that I grew a beard and he told me that he didn’t care. I have this voice in my head telling me that he does care and that he’s just lying to me to try and make me feel better, but I’ve done a pretty good job of telling that voice to shut the fuck up and leave me alone. I may or may not be partially schizophrenic, it runs in the family. I have a history of cutting and depression as well as bulimia and anorexia. Just because I’m not stick-think doesn’t mean that I don’t have an eating disorder. I’ve had around 100 calories today and I’m hating myself for eating that much because I do think of myself as a fat pig. 100 calories is easy enough to consume if you have toast or a cup of milo or even a freaking cup of milk or coke. Most people don’t realize how many calories they consume in a day, week, month. For me, I can’t stop counting the calories, weighing myself every morning and night hoping and praying that the numbers have changed. I managed to lose 2 kilos in 2 days, but I think that I could have pushed that to 3 if I hadn’t of binged yesterday. My binge? Roughly 250-300 grams of chicken breast tenders and half a cup of cashews. For most people that’s a snack. For me, that’s a binge. I used to be bulimic, but recently I haven’t been able to get my gag reflex to work properly. A purge that took a couple of minutes now takes me at least 15-20. I hate my body. There’s one thing that I /like/ on my body, and that’s my hair. I even find fault with that all the time. Basically, I hate myself. I constantly wish that the doctors hadn’t revived me at birth. I was born dead. I wish I’d stayed that way. I have that thought in my head all the time. Being diagnosed with what I’ve been diagnosed with… It’s just reinforced the belief that I should never have been born. Survival of the fittest right? Well, I never would have qualified for the race. I know my mum hates me. She says it often enough. I know I’m a major disappointment to my parents. They were expecting a daughter that would get 100% on every single test she took and who would go to the best university in Australia and do a really, really difficult course and ace that and then go on to save lives or some shit. I don’t know. All I want to do with my life is travel and write. Especially write. I’ve always wanted to be an author, since I was little. The only problem is, I have no willpower to stick to anything. I just… I can’t even… Ugh! >.< this sucks so much. I just want to forget about everything and go back to running around in short shorts and sports bras and not give a FUCK what anyone thought. Now that I think about that, I don’t know how I managed to do that at the age I was. Or the size. I was huge. I still am. I haven’t been under 100 kilograms in over 6 years. Do you know how sad that makes me? Jake says he is over me talking about my weight and body image and everything else. Doesn’t he think that I’d love to stop being obsessed with it? Doesn’t he get that for me it’s not something that I do for attention, but it’s something that I’m obsessed with and can’t stop? I can’t help it if I turn nearly all our convo’s into something about weight or looks or if he wants to leave me for another girl. Doesn’t he understand that I don’t expect him to wait around? He lives in fucking AMERICA! I live in Australia. We’re never going to meet. And if we do, he’ll run for the fucking hills because he’s so disgusted by me. And I won’t even blame him for it. I know what people must think of me when they see me. “Oh look, oh god that’s so fucking disgusting. Look at all those rolls! Oh my god, doesn’t she know that she’s fat? How could she have let herself get to that size? My god, no she isn’t about to eat is she? Oh my god she is. No, don’t eat that! No. You’re so fucking fat you don’t need to eat that. Go on fucking Jenny Craig you fat cow!” How do I know? Those are the same thoughts that go through my head constantly. Sigh. I needed to rant. Anyways. Yeah. Don’t judge me. You may read this and think you know me, but you don’t. No one does. Not my parents, not my best friend, not even my boyfriend.