“Hey, you fat b*tch." Strangers actually yell this at me when I walk down the street.

It’s hard to love yourself when strangers insist that you shouldn’t.

Yesterday should have been one of the happiest days of my life.

Yesterday, I graduated from university, something I’ve worked hard at for three years to achieve.

But among the congratulations, there was a niggling, growing anxiety.

Over the past few months I’ve put on six kilos. I am now the heaviest I’ve ever been in my life. It’s not a great feeling.

I struggle to feel comfortable in my clothes, my belly sticks out – making me paranoid people think I’m pregnant – and I’m avoiding social outings less and less because of four nagging words:

What will people think?

If you’re my friend, or someone who’s kind, you’re probably dying to say to me: ‘Who cares what people think? Just be yourself.’  But what’s strange is I do like myself and who I am as a person.

I just don’t like the body I have so carelessly neglected.

And it’s pretty hard to not care what people think when I get fat-shamed by strangers.

It’s only happened to me a few times; most people are considerate enough to keep their opinions to themselves.

But just over a month ago, I was walking along Darling Harbour at dusk with a friend when I heard: “Hey fatty!”

I turned my head slightly and saw a suited man looking my way. “Yeah you, you fat bitch,” he said. “You are a disgrace to society, you fucking pig.”

I was shocked. I kept on walking as if I hadn’t heard a word, but the words stuck like chewing gum caught in my throat. I was scared. Scared he might attack me. I was humiliated – though more for my friend than for me. Was she embarrassed to be seen with me?

The words haunted me for weeks.

I never used to have such crippling social anxiety. Now I avoid going to the beach and even going outside in daytime hours. I feel obliged to decline invitations to go out drinking or dancing and when I sit at a restaurant I make sure I’ll easily be able to manoeuvre out of my seat. I would hate to be an inconvenience to anyone.

This weekend, my Mum is visiting and wants to visit people she hasn’t seen in years – strangers to me. When she told me I almost cried. I don’t want to meet people, especially friends of Mums’, looking the way I do. I feel like they’ll judge me and judge Mum in turn. I feel like I’ve disappointed her, even though I know she loves me and my brother more than anything.

Anxiety is fucking with my brain. I have never felt like this. I have never felt ashamed to be me, but now I do.

My worst fears about graduation were confirmed when, instead of feeling elated that all those years of study were over, all I could think about was looking like a marshmallow in the photos. These fears were justifiable. I received the official portraits and immediately began to cry. I looked monstrous. This is how I will look back on that day. These photos are what my future children will look at. I am disgusted that I have let myself get into this state.

It hasn’t always been this bad. I have been overweight ever since I can remember, due to no fault of my parents. It’s my self-control that lets me down. I avoid exercise like the plague and I can never say no to a piece of chocolate, or eight.

I’m an emotional eater. It’s a deadly cycle. If I’m happy? A celebratory dinner. Sad? A bag of Maltesers. Food makes me happy. Food makes all of my problems go away. Until it doesn’t. Until food is the problem. Food, a need for human existence, will kill me one day if I don’t change my habits.

And it’s not as if all I eat is junk. I like vegies, I eat them every day. I actively attempt to make each meal I have be a healthy one. It’s the brownie I sometimes buy as a treat on a Friday. Or the peanut butter toast I sometimes substitute for muesli  when I get to work in the morning. Or the satay chicken I get delivered when I can’t be bothered cooking.

These impulsive choices I make bring happiness for five minutes. Then instantaneous regret. It feels like I have no control, which I know probably sounds ludicrous, but there’s just something in my brain that switches. I always succumb to the devil on my shoulder.

My other issue? I have a commitment problem. I have tried dieting, but I go three days and fall off the wagon. I have tried Weight Watchers, which I know would work if I could stick to it, the best I have gone is a month – I lost eight kilos then for one reason or another lost focus.  As I always do.

But I have joined again. And this time I have a goal in mind. I leave for a mini Europe holiday in 3 months and want to have lost the weight I have put on in the last few. Just enough to feel a bit more comfortable.

And then the real challenge will begin when I get back. Changing habits for the long-term. It will be an uphill battle, but I’m ready.

Have you ever been publicly criticised for your weight?

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