"It's impossible for you to make good decisions."

When I was about eleven, my mother took me to visit her parents. They were emotionally and verbally abusive when she was growing up, and she still constantly seeks their approval. She wanted to show off her golden child so that her parents would have an opportunity to find something good in her.

We ended up in a discussion where my grandfather told me, "It's impossible for you to make good decisions because your brain isn't fully developed. You'll be making bad decisions until your mid-twenties." He added that I would probably be pregnant a few times and that I would borrow (and owe) him money between then and brain maturity time.

He was wrong, but I still remember him saying that.

"You're f*cking disgusting."

One day on my way to school when I was eight years old, I was cornered by a very large 6th grader and his friends. He pushed me up against a brick wall, lifted my shirt, and squeezed my chubby stomach and little fleshy "man boobs." 

He said, "You're so fat. You're f*ckin' disgusting."

As my shirt dropped and the tears started, he wiped his hands on the front of my shirt. 

What stuck with me wasn't necessarily what he said; it was the look he gave when he wiped his hands on my shirt, and the laughs of his friends. 

The absolute humiliation I felt and the sudden awareness that I was "fat and disgusting" is something that has haunted my up until this day. I became a closet, compulsive eater and had bulimic tendencies. I topped out in 2007 at over 520 pounds. 

And even to this day, after a 300+ pound weight loss, I still hear his voice and see his face. Even though I have some recovery under my belt now, I still can't talk to people because I still think I'm disgusting, and don't want to burden them.
 

"Nobody cares."

When I was in first grade, there was a girl who liked to tease me in a rather simple but hurtful way. I was a very talkative child, but every time I said something, she said to me, "Nobody cares." 

Eventually I stopped being talkative and became a quiet child. Now I am a quiet 20 year old struggling to talk to people, with barely any friends.

To top this all, my parents say I'm a very boring person. They don't believe in mental illnesses or disorders that I could have, so they just tell me to get over myself.

I just honestly think that nobody cares.

"All that sugar is making you fat."

I've been addicted to coffee since I was 15, and I drink it all the time. One time when I was out with my father, I put sugar in my coffee, and he looked at me and said, "All that sugar is making you fat."

He has made several offhanded comments about my weight in the past (although the doctor says I'm healthy for someone my height and age), but this is the comment that stuck with me. 

I completely stopped drinking coffee for a while. Now I drink it straight up black because I have a fear of gaining weight.
 

Sumo

When I was in first or second grade, an older kid had one of those sumo wrestler costumes that blows up and becomes gigantic. I said that dressing up in one of them would be really fun. This kid turned to me and said, "You don't need that costume because you're fat enough already," and proceeded to call me Sumo for weeks. 

Years later, I'm definitely not as big as I used to be, but I'm still the biggest of all my friends. No matter how much people tell me "You look good!" or "You lost weight," I'll never ever be confident in my body. And every time I think about my weight, I always think about this moment. 
 

"It's not cool. It's scary."

I had a problem with self harm a few years ago. When I finally decided to reveal it to my mom (because I was sick of hiding), one of the things she said about it really bothered me. 

"It's not cool. It's scary." 

I just can't figure out where she got the idea that I was doing this to myself because I thought it was cool. Her reaction made me feel like she was dismissing the problem by ignoring the underlying issues and simplifying it to some weird hobby or something.
 

"I guess I did screw up minorly."

Ever since I can remember, I had difficulties in school, and I was always really socially awkward. Starting in second grade, I was severely teased for being different. 

My second grade teacher was so supportive and kind, and he advocated that I get tested to find out why I was different from everyone else. But after I was tested, my mother, who I refer to as "Birthgiver" made sure I never found out the results. 

I used to come home in tears, begging to know why I was so different, and she would say things like, "What did you do to them first to make them tease you?" "You're lazy and don't apply yourself." "The only way I can get through to you is by hitting you." "You need to stop being such a baby." 

By high school, I finally just stopped asking why I was different. Stopped telling her in detail about how cruel kids were to me. I just started saying "I'm fine," and, "School was fine."

I started dating someone at age 19, got married and divorced, and didn't speak to my birthgiver for eight years. 

When I finally reached out to her, I hoped that she had realized her faults in our relationship.  Instead of taking accountability for what she did, she just said. "Oh, yeah, I guess I did screw up minorly by not telling you that you have autism."

That has always stuck with me. If I had known I had autism sooner, and she had gotten me some additional help from outside school, maybe I wouldn't have struggled for so long.
 

"If she were smaller, then sure."

As a kid I was always taller and more shapely than everyone else my age.  In 7th grade when all of my little petite friends were getting "boyfriends," one of my friends asked my crush if he liked me. 

His response was, "Oh, she's pretty, but she's just way too big for me to be with. If she were smaller, then sure." 

I have never forgotten that. And now, ten years later, I still have anxiety every time I look into the mirror.

"Why don't you start buying your own damn food?"

In 2012, my daughter's father and I broke up after he cheated on me. This man had been my whole world, and when we broke up, I was not in a good place. I was barely eating, and was lucky if I was able to keep down a small snack. I lost 25 pounds in a month and was crying all the time. 

I was living with my family, in a house with two hungry teenage boys. My dad came home from work one day, looked at me, and said, "I'm sick of you eating all the fucking food. Why don't you start buying your own damn food?" 

That one sentence, revealing that he didn't care enough to notice that I was clearly not the one eating all the food (or any food), and that I was currently very broken, destroyed our relationship. 

It took me four years after that to finally manage to let go of the toxic man I call my father. I may have cut him off, but his words have still stuck with me. They will always be a reminder that family is not always there. 

"Why did she get in the car with him?!"

I had a summer internship in college at a summer camp. The boss was terrible to work for and always felt off, and a news story eventually revealed him to be a pervert who had groomed, molested, and raped one of the campers, a 14-year-old girl. He had given her a ride home one day, but instead of taking her home, brought her back to his place where he sexually assaulted her. 

I told my mom about it and her immediate reaction was, "Why did she get in the car with him?!"

This reaction irreversibly changed the way I saw my mother: as the kind of woman who would blame a 14-year-old girl for being raped. 

To this day she still does not understand why I don't want to put that internship on my resume.