The “S” test took place. But ten-year-olds are not admitted to psychiatric wards

The published fragments come from the book “Diet (non)life” by Karolina Otwinowska and Agnieszka Mazur. The entire book is available for download as an e-book on the campaign website: Every day around noon, the psychologist and I would gather in the TV room to talk about what was troubling our poor souls. We arranged comfortable armchairs in a circle to create a more intimate and friendly atmosphere. Colorful walls and decorations hung in various places also helped in building it. Usually it was the therapist who dictated the topic of the conversation, but sometimes the patients themselves took the initiative. I liked these therapies. I often talked a lot on them. I believed that by working on myself, I would be able to start healing.

As a new member of the group, I had to introduce myself to the other patients so that they knew that I was just a crazy person and that they could freely pour out their sorrows to me.

Initially, it seemed to me that this “rosary circle of anonymous anorexics” was a big lie. Ultimately, however, it was in the hospital that I learned to talk. Thanks to the therapists, I also established a bond with my father, whom I once associated only with the need to pay alimony. My relationship with my mother has also improved since they treated me here. There were often many misunderstandings between us, and the unpleasant experiences from the past will probably remain in my memory forever. Today, as a new member of the group, I had to introduce myself to the other patients so that they would know that I am just a crazy person and that they can freely pour out their sorrows to me.

What was the beginning of all this? I did not know. I had no idea when exactly I started getting sick. I was labeled an anorexic when I still weighed fifty-eight kilograms, but my problems started much earlier. I’ve felt fat for as long as I can remember, but it didn’t always bother me. I took up the most space in school photos, but that was mainly because I was quite tall. Over time and the development of fast food chains, I grew not only vertically, but primarily sideways. However, I could never refuse the fried chicken with french fries and beetroot sauce, which my grandmother prepared especially for me. I felt sad only when I observed the slim figures of my friends from the yard. I was jealous that they were so agile and that they were so good at hula-hooping. Still, no one pushed me away, and I bravely turned the plastic ring around my slightly thicker waist. I could always drown any failures and sadness in a cup of hot chocolate or eat some candy bars. In the same yard, grandma often appeared with a hot dog and cheesecake in her hand.

Often, instead of asking: “What is your name?” I heard: “How much do you weigh?”

The situation changed slightly after moving to Warsaw. Due to my parents’ work, I often had to change my place of residence, friends and surroundings. I started experiencing unpleasantness in the capital. The children in the local yard were not so understanding. Often, instead of asking: “What is your name?” I heard: “How much do you weigh?” These words hurt very much. Especially since there was no grandmother with comforting treats in the Warsaw yard. My friends at school reacted similarly to my size. There was once a medicine ball throwing competition during PE lessons. I didn’t want to take part, but my friends said I would be the perfect player. “You’re fat, so you’re strong – we’ll win!” – they decided. Despite my fear, I tried. The girls were cheering for Karolina the fat girl. Unfortunately, in vain…

We lost. This humiliation played like a movie in my mind every time I tried to eat. My head was filled with red lights that turned on when snacks were present. The radars reminded us that being fat is not good for PE lessons and making new friends. I still remembered laughing and jeering when the medicine ball I was throwing went in a completely different direction. “He’s such a belcher, he won’t even throw the ball well! We lost points because of you, you bastard!” – my classmates shouted then. Later, the disease screamed: “No chocolate! Do you want to stagger like a barrel? Have you seen few footballs in your life? Look at your belly! And what, you bastard, where are your ribs? They’re gone?! You’ve eaten yourself again, you bastard! Even to the point of starvation.” “You’re no good. No wonder you always lose, you stinker.”

Then the “S” test took place. But ten-year-olds are not admitted to psychiatric wards

Difficult relationships with peers were only the beginning of hell. I had a real nightmare at home. Arguments, insults, threats, police, alcohol. Every now and then I listened to my parents’ screams and watched them fight in the marriage ring. Then the “S” test took place. Wanting to stop one of the fights, I swallowed a handful of pills and, crying, asked my parents for help. There was no hospital. I was too small. Ten-year-olds are not admitted to psychiatric wards. The emergency room doctor made me vomit with one movement of his hand in a white glove. His big paw in my little baby mouth became a warning against taking too many medications. At least for a while.

My parents’ divorce was supposed to put an end to all these problems. However, before it happened, a few months passed and I had to learn which part of the fridge belonged to my mother and which products I could take from my father. I separated cheese, sausages and margarine with a black line drawn by my imagination. But the easiest option was to take nothing. Then I was sure that I wouldn’t make a mistake and cause another argument between my parents. Strange thoughts often swirled in his head. I didn’t know what was happening to me. Rejected by my friends, I couldn’t count on anyone’s support. I was alone. Without friends, without real family, without the warmth of home, without my grandparents’ delicacies. All I had was a big teddy bear and a lot of weight. My folds of fat could probably warm many lonely souls. But I wasn’t going to be my own comforter. I decided to change. If Karolina, the fat girl, couldn’t be happy, Karolina, the slim one, will feel the joy of the world – I decided.

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You need help?

If you need help, don’t hesitate to ask for it. Below is a list of organizations where you can find support:

• – is a free telephone number 116 111, which operates 24 hours a day from Monday to Sunday.
• .
• Tumbo Foundation Helps children and young people in mourning – phone number: 800 111 123 is open from Monday to Friday from 12:00 to 18:00.
• runs a free, anonymous telephone and trust chat for children and teenagers. Just call or write to 800 119 119, open every day from 2 p.m. to 10 p.m.
• Children’s Helpline of the Ombudsman for Children (800 121 212).

If you experience violence from your loved ones, call the national hotline for victims of domestic violence “Blue Line” (800 120 002).