Purge: To undergo, or cause purging of the bowels.
Binge: A period or bout, usually brief, of excessive indulgence, as in eating, drinking alcoholic beverages, etc.; spree.
With one look at me, you could tell many things. I liked to smile. I liked to dye my hair. I liked to annoy the heck out of random strangers I met on the streets. I wore too much eyeliner. I abused jeans, awfully. But in that one look, there was a facade that none of you could have imagined. Behind that smile, you'd have never imagined someone with insecurities. You'd have never imagined someone with an eating disorder.
I'll start this off by saying that I, although being a past bulimic/anorexic, am not a popular-crazed teen. I see nothing appealing about being popular. With that being said, I hope you understand this writing piece a bit more.
I'll give you a little background info. Three years ago (actually, as I write this, EXACTLY three years ago) I received a book for Christmas. I'm a bit book obsessed, and usually finish a book the day I start it. The book was about a bulimic girl who went to group therapy for her disorder. I won't go too in depth, but she doesn't recover at the end. Once I finished it, I looked at my pitifully disgusting body in the mirror. I already had prior image problems, but I suppose the book opened my eyes to it all. That same day, after our Christmas dinner, I went to the washroom. It took me a good half an hour to actually purge. I didn't like throwing up, but I told myself I would get used to it. Since that day, I was hooked.
Any little thing I had would be purged. Even if I was on a fast (I had tendencies of anorexia), and had a lick of jam or sip of juice, I purged. I didn't need alcohol, drugs, or sexual relations. This was my drug. It made me feel like I accomplished something. It made me feel control. I had not felt like I controlled any part of my life until then. Hello, world. I will be size zero.
I binged. I binged a lot. Thankfully, I rarely ever gained weight because I had become a master at purging, and, I had a very fast metabolism. But there was something about my binges that always made me feel something after. It was not a nice feeling. I always felt alone, helpless, like a failure, stupid, ugly, and fat. But during the act of binging, I was fully content.
It's like nothing else existed or mattered. It was just me, I was perfect in those few minutes of binging. I think in those three years of "bulimarexia", binges were the only time I was truly happy.
Then came the weight loss, but I wouldn't have known. I was skinny. Well, skinnier than before. You could see my rib cage through my t-shirts, my back was just as bony, my face was hallow and pale, and I was losing hair. No one really noticed the weight change, because I started wearing huge sweaters and baggy pants. But one day while baby sitting, the little girl I was taking care of noticed a quarter sized bald spot on my head. This happened several times. Then finally, my mom noticed my lack of hair. Off to the doctor we went.
The doctor rode this off as stress. But as the hair continued to fall out, he suggested that I had alopecia, which is an illness that makes you lose hair. I knew differently, though. But it's not as if I would ever tell them.
Along with the bulimia, anorexia, and alopecia came the panic and anxiety attacks. They became more constant and frequent. I landed in the hospital a few times. I even had one nurse tell me how thin I was. She said in a worried voice, not a complimentary one. But it made me smile. I was in the hospital for the fifth time in three months, but I was happy. Some one told me I was thin. As if it were enough . . .
Speaking for myself, I don't think bulimia or anorexia did anything to actually help my life. It made me angry with everyone, angry at myself, alone, more insecure than before, and delusional. Self-harm often reared it's ugly little head and put it's reign of terror on my arms and legs. I was already suicidal, even before becoming bulimic, and my disorder did nothing to help that. The only thing that it did for me was give me dental problems (from all the stomach acid), made me lose sleep greatly, gave me esophageal problems (when you have a dream of being an actor, this is never good), possibly damaged my kidney (perhaps for the rest of my life), etc. The list is long and detailed, but I won't go into that today. That's just physical difficulty. Imagine all the psychological problems you can develop.
I won't go and say that all anorexics, bulimics, or anyone with an eating disorder is alone, hates themselves, has anxiety problems, etc. It's not my right to say that. I just want to say that it's how I felt, and I certainly don't think that everyone with the disorder is like that. Generalizing is not the point of this article. Please don't feel as if I did that, because it's not my intention.
Right now is my anniversary. I don't think Christmas will ever be the same for me again. I spent most of Christmas Eve and all of Christmas thinking about everything. I had a relapse a few weeks ago, but I won't go into that. It was probably nothing and just a phase. But things will never be the same again. Ever.
Recovery is possible.
Happiness is there.
Smiles won't have to be forced.
xoxo
M.
