Today I ate two packs of cookies, assuming they (my parent's) wouldn't say anything, but I was still afraid.
At night my father asked me about them,
so I replied that I ate them.
He looked at me and said, "Seriously, you ate two packs of cookies...?" with a clearly contemptuous and surprised expression. He was practically calling me "disgusting fatso" with his eyes while he ate his fitness dinner.
I felt so ashamed, almost humiliated, as he said, "Control yourself. You've eaten four whole packs this weekend...!" looking at me out of the corner of his eye while I trying to act with a certain confident indifference. But inside, I was dying of humiliation and shame.
My father is thin and practically "perfect." I love him, but I hate that he's so perfect. I don't like that he eats less than me, and I'll never accept it.
Out of anger and rage, I'll do it for myself.
Dad, on birthdays and at any party we're at, you're not going to tell me to "eat without guilt" or "eat whatever I want." Because I hate you. I hate you for being thin and perfect while I'm like a fat ball next to you. I hate when you tell me to "control yourself."
Now just wait and see what I'm capable of.
