Candy to a Baby

Giving candy to children is always seen as an evil thing these days. Even if you weren't a pedophile, you didn't do them any good. Candy rots your teeth. And it makes you fat. It's bad because it makes you ugly. Same story with drugs. The only reason anybody cares about people taking drugs or eating too much is because it makes you ugly. If drugs or food had zero effect on the way you looked on the outside, they wouldn't even fund anti-drug PSAs or healthy eating schemes.

The most effective anti-drug PSAs are those ones where they show someone before and after drugs. Before: attractive. After: falling to bits. The ones where it says that doing drugs will make you steal a car and punch your baby sister in the face don't put people off as strongly as the notion that you might look how you feel.

Somebody made me ugly on purpose because they thought it would make me safe, and that person was my mother. My mum was so scared of me getting molested that she deliberately made me ugly. She fed me too much so I would be too fat for any potential pedophile to want me. My mum gave me candy, fast food, chocolate, milkshakes, cake. As a kid, I thought I was lucky.

I didn't think I was lucky when I was fat and everybody at school hated me, of course. But all I knew was my mother. The momentary relief of guzzling something colourful kept me alive. I didn't know anything but food. Most kids eventually swap out the joy of candy for sex and drugs when they hit a certain age. I never did. It's still always just food. I'm still fat. I'm still untouchable.

My mother didn't do it out of spite, it would have been easier if she did. She really thought she was helping me, thought that my soul bobs along fine so long as nobody touched my no-no place. That whatever other trauma she invoked was null and void because at least no old man fiddled with me.

So my motive in life has always been to be as ugly as possible because I see ugly as safe. Instinctively, that is what I've learned. If I look good, I've failed, I've opened myself up for attack. It feels like a moral failure after all this effort, like I'm showing off, like I'm just gross if I fail to be ugly. Like I can't be this neutral, safe, untainted presence anymore.

I know it's not normal to want to be ugly.

I don't know if my mum was molested herself. I think she was probably molested by my dad, and I was a rape baby. That would explain a lot. For one, why I felt so dark inside for as long as I can remember. Why she thinks that the possibility of someone molesting me is so high. If any child is getting raped, it is the child of rape. Say they can smell it on me, I can smell it on myself. This undercurrent of darkness from within, is it how I was wired? Was I always destined to be unhappy, because I wasn't born out of love? Do I have a soul at all?

My whole life was marked with sexual violence and I haven't even experienced it. I somehow fit in among molestation victims despite my absence of it. I was also haunted by sexual abuse in my childhood, just sexual abuse that didn't actually happen. I bore the brunt of it. I read about how some sexual abuse victims eat too much so they aren't attractive to their abusers anymore.

My mum tried to protect me from getting molested by invoking one of the most common symptoms. Still I bet if I'd been left alone, had I not been so tied to my mother's apron, and I was still as fat, something would have happened. The last thing child molesters are known for is for being shallow.

Mum made me feel like getting molested was the only thing that could happen to me. My life is nothing. My body is the important part. Apparently. What's going on in my mind is no fucking matter, as long as my body is untarnished.

But I guess she did keep me safe.