"We're eating dinner soon."
"I'm not hungry, blah."
"Did you eat today?"
"Yes"
"What?"
"A bagel."
"A bagel isn't enough"
"I didn't eat it that long ago. It's fine. Don't worry. I'm eating."
"Ok...I trust you. If you say you're eating then you're eating."
Well, to tell you the truth, I wish I hadn't, but I love that we talked about it. I'm cocky like that, "a bagel isn't enough" mmhmm. That's right, just a bagel. Nothing more. And I am fine. Just dandy, and all I had was a bagel. Obviously just a bagel is more then enough. To tell you the truth, I feel full. That was too much. So tommorow, tommorow there shall be no food. Then I'll show you. You can live off of nothing.
Wake up in a horrible mood. Like always. It's 1:00 in the afternoon, you went to bed at 4:00 am. You're not too fond of sleeping at night. Nights are the best. Quiet, no one to bother you. You can sit and think for as long as you need, without interruption. Without an agenda. No appointments to be late for, no work to get done. Nothing to interrupt your pure solitude.
You are in a bad mood upon waking up, knowing that you gave into sleep and now you have to pay the price, you have to wake up. First thought: no food today. Before anything else, you look down at your stomach, puffed out, full from eating anything at all the day before. It doesn't matter how little you ate. Unless you have that airy, empty feeling in the pit of your stomach, nothing else is good enough.
Get up, go to the bathroom. Feeling a little bit better. Anyway, to empty yourself is a relief. Washing hands acts as an excuse to stare at yourself in the mirror. Turn to the side, look at your arms from all angles. You have an obsession with arms. Yours of course never being good enough. You push your shoulders up, exposes your collar bones. Then shoulders down. Shoulders up.
Turn around, suck in stomach, let out stomach, suck in stomach. Run hand down. Push in the spots that are sticking out to your disapproval. Then you look at your face for a long time. Staring. Raise your chin, turn your face. Feeling ever crease, every spot, in search of yourself. In search of something beneath it all. You decide, "still too ugly, still too fat" and you walk out of the bathroom refusing to look in a mirror for the rest of the day.
Another day, another boring day. Nothing to do, never anything to do. Nothing really seems worth it to you anymore. You have to finish your book, you have another one lined up. Wasted. Amazing book. You're at the end. She is 52 pounds. The chapters are spent telling of how damn thin she is. How her life is falling apart. How she is dying. All you can do is try to picture what she looks like. You wish they had a picture of her in the book. You really want to see this 'horribly thin' figure that keeps being described. You want to compare how thin you can let yourself get before you die. Then you have something to work towards...
You can't read anymore, seeing that you aren't really reading, you are obtaining anything your reading. You just keep thinking about the 'horribly thin' figure. So you decide to waste your life on the computer instead. You think of how many calories you are not burning by doing this. But you have no energy to do anything else. Fat. Lazy. Slob. You go on your screenname to specifically talk to one person. Your life by now has been reduced to nothing more then diets, razors, sleep, and him. He's the only thing keeping you sane. You find him, and there is some releif. Then comes your daily ritual. You type in the addresses, Pro-Ana websites - to check up on your friends. The only people that get you. The only place where you can be you and not seem crazy. They understand your search for diet tips, fasting buddies, anything positive. But all you end up doing is feeling really bad about not being as thin and as motivated as the rest. So you leave a ranting entry about how horrible you're doing. So much for motivation. You look at the clock, 2 hours. You're disgusted with the fact that you just spent 2 hours in front of a computer screen.
You decide to be productive. It's great once you get things done, it's just getting yourself to do them that's the trick. A shower seems sufficient. Back to the mirror. I thought you wouldn't look again. Well, I am passing it, I might as well. Pull off your shirt. Okay, let's deal with the top half first, it's not quite as bad as the bottom. Shoulders up, stomach in, chin out. There. Beauty. Turn to the front, let yourself go. You want to cry. That is quite a dramatic difference. It scares you. Thinking about anyone ever seeing you like this scares you. You don't know how to do it. You can't even do it in front of yourself... Time for the bottom half. You know there will be tears. Off comes the pants. Yup. Just as disgusting as you thought. But no tears, instead, frustration. Anger. You push the mirrors together so you can't see your reflection.
You could never bring yourself to undress completely in front of a mirror, knowing it may have serious consequences. You spend your shower inspecting once again. Feeling for bones you might have missed. Any bones at this point are worth finding, there are so few that you jump with joy when you find one. Nope, no new ones. You have your shoulders, your wrist, which you are quite fond of, and your hips, when laying down. You love to lie down because you can feel your hip bones, and for once, it makes you happy.
Shower is done. And now you're really bored. You could do work, you could call all those people you said you would, you could clean. Nothing seems appealing. Eating sounds appealing. Amazing the way the mind works. You just spent your whole morning looking for bones, obsessing over fat, and now you want to eat. What is wrong with you? But once the bug is in your brain, there is no getting rid of it.
Walk into the kitchen. Cake, ice-cream, chicken, bread, crackers. You don't even particularly want any of it, you force yourself to crave it. I shouldn't... I shouldn't... I shouldn't... Well maybe I could... Just a little bit... I am gonna have to eat dinner tonight anyway... I can start tommorow... Tommorow... Tommorow. Isn't that what you said yesterday? Yes, tommorow is just always so conveniently a day away. It doesn't take much to know you are gonna lose this one. That chicken looks really good... I put the chicken in the microwave and the bread in the toaster, whilst shoving crackers into my mouth and then begins the binge. I binge in strange ways. Maybe because it's not an 'every once in a while' whenever I eat, it's a binge. Because suddenly I want everything. Everything is calling out to me. I make a sandwich with the chicken and ranch dressing. It needs chips. I get the chips and dip. I need soda. I poured a glass of pepsi and sat in front of the tv feeling quite content. Then all the food was gone. I really wanted that ice cream so I made up some ice-cream with cake and sat back down in front of the tv feeling a little guilty, but hey, I had already screwed up, and after this, no more.
All the ice-cream and cake was gone. I really want some more crackers so I got the box of crackers. It feels horrible. I toss the idea of purging around, knowing it won't happen, and watch a movie on tv, whilst shoving crackers into my mouth. Then I hear something on the tv. 100 things flash through my mind, that guy reminds me of him. Then I remember he is coming in a month. I remember my plan to lose 40 pounds by then. The plan that was supposed to start a month ago. I snap. I am always so dramatic with these things. I don't know if I hate that about myself or love it. I throw down the box of crackers, shut off the tv and run upstairs.
I slam the bathroom door, push up the toilet cover and slump to the ground. It's 2:15. No one's home. I rarely throw up in the toilet, in fear of someone hearing me, it's a treat when I can. At first I am passionate. I lean over the bowl, shove two fingers down my throat and move around. Two seconds later out comes the ice-cream. Just to make a note, never purge after eating ice-cream. I thought I had learnt this lesson. It disgusting. This thought alone makes me toy with the idea of stopping. I think again, look down at my bulging stomach, it's too late now. I have to do this. Lean, fingers, puke. Lean, fingers, puke. Spit, spit, spit.
Did I mention I hate throwing up? I am yet to meet a bulimic who enjoys throwing up. That is the difference between anorexia and bulimia. Anorexia is the God, Bulimia is the Devil. Anorexia is power, Bulimia is greed. Anorexia proves independence and willpower, Bulimia shows weakness. Bulimia is the underdog to Anorexia, and no one wants to be a bulimic. We don't enjoy spilling our guts in a search for something. For ourselves, for a way out, for a never-ending battle to feel. We do it because we have to. There isn't a choice anymore. Because if there was, I promise you that I wouldn't be doing what I am doing. So again, as with everything I have to admire from afar. I was never born skinny, I was never born talented and everything I ever had, everything I was ever good enough for, there was always something better, always someone better. I was never the best at anything. And now, even with bulimia, I am not the best. I am not showing my self control, I am showing that I am damned well not good enough to restrict, not good enough to be an anorexic.
The word is like music, and it's always just a little bit out of reach for me. My throat is killing me now. There is puke everwhere. My hands are shaking. I can't seem to get this horrible taste out of my mouth. My nose is running and I can feel the food in my throat. It's disgusting. I sit back. 2:30. I said I would stop at 2:30. Unlike most bulimics, I measure throwing up by time, not how much I throw up. I have no idea why, but the time always seems to get longer and longer as I go on. Okay, so at 2:45 I'll stop.
I look down into the toilet, not particularly wanting to start again, the taste in my mouth was finally going away. I think this is the most I've ever thrown up. Oh, and did I mention, on top of being a horribly horrid anorexic, I am not a very good bulimic either? I never throw up everything. Just enough, until the point where I can't anymore. I know I'm pathetic, I should keep going. Two fingers down, puke. Oh thank God, the ice-cream is gone. Now onto everything else. This should be easier... ugh. No. Solids. This is gross. Half the throw up doesn't make it to the toilet, it sits in the mouth. This alone makes me throw up more. Gagging, it's disgusting... completely disgusting.
I look at the clock. It's 2:45. Ugh. I was just going good. Two more, just two more. Lean, fingers, puke. Lean, fingers, puke. Wow, this is getting easier. I love how the body works. Just when you are ready to stop, do the body some good, it starts doing what you want it to. Stupid body. I can't stop now, I am finally getting the hang of this. I go down to one finger, two were getting to be too much. Lean, finger, puke. I lean back and stare. It's done now.
Clean up time. There would be no cleaning up if you were anorexic. Everything, just everything, is wrong with bulimia. Flush toilet, praying for it to accept your mess, you really don't want to have to explain why the sewer backed up. It does. You're a little more calm now. You stand up, your legs shaking. You were sitting on your knees for a while, you are light headed. You look at the clock. 3:00. 45 minutes well spent? You have no idea. It's better then it sitting in your stomach right? Sure.
Wash your hands, they hurt. Your right one does at least. You run your left over it, feeling the red bump from where your teeth jabbed into your skin. You almost wish it would've bled, left a lasting mark, a battle scar. You are also, of course, a cutter. Just another piece of baggage that goes along with this.
Then the mirror. You look up. You don't do your ritual this time though. This time you focus more on your face. Not your bones, but you. Yes, you exist. Yes, after all that you're still fat, you're still lumpy, you don't look anorexic, you don't look beautiful, you look bulimic.
**** it all. Get a huge bag, throw out all the toilet paper, you used an entire roll. Traipse out into the snow, throw away the bag. Again relief. You laugh at the thought of all the bags of vomit those poor garbage men end up picking up all the time. I wonder if they catch on. But what do they care? Back into the house. Plopped in front of the computer, looking at sites, throat flaming, head spinning, stomach churning, thinking about what's for dinner.
So this is the back story...
I became Anorexic when I was in year 7; brought on by bullying and rumors at school. I had hardly noticed that I had stopped eating and even started cutting. At the begining of year 7 I weighed 125 pounds and after just a few months I weighed 105. People at school and my parents started noticing the difference. I was constantly getting compliments from my relatives saying, "Oh, you look great, you're finally losing your baby fat". I remember how angry I became in finding out that people actually did think I was fat, and still do now.
During the summer I discovered that you didnt actually have to stop eating; you could just eat a little bit and throw it up afterwards. By then I had started throwing up 8 times a day. I kept myself on a strict schedule: skip breakfast and lunch, eat as little as you can for dinner, and throw it up afterwards. Everything was going well until my mum found out by reading my diary. Year 8had started, and I weighed 95 pounds. You could see most of my bones and everyone at school noticed the difference.
Eventually I ended up having to leave school and go to a private school. I finally convinced myself that maybe, not eating the foods I wanted to, and constantly living in fear of the things I ate, wasnt what I really wanted. I wanted what everyone else had. A normal life. So, each day I tried a little bit harder than the last. I didnt want anyone else's help - I wanted to know that I could do this on my own. I finally started gaining all my weight back, and by 9th grade I weighed 127 lbs.
But then, out of nowhere I started to get these 'cravings' for wanting to lose weight. I started throwing up after every meal; even when I saw blood, I convinced myself I had to keep going. It was 8th grade all over again. I stopped eating and counted everything from calories to carbs. I was afraid to even drink water for the fear of becoming bloated. I became weak and fainted in the bathroom at school.
I felt everything about me changing; I knew what was happening to me again - that I was becoming the same monster, the same obsessive person; and for a while I wanted it. But I started to feel sick out of nowhere; blood was in my urine and in my stools. I didnt know what to do so I told my mother to call the doctor.
Weeks later, after excruciating pain, they found in a ultrasound scan that I had a 9mm kidney stone. A 2mm stone is the largest your body can pass, so I had to undergo lithotripsy. I will never forget that night; after the surgery I was in so much pain. But, the worst was yet to come; they had to find out why I had blood in my stools, and they had to do scopes of my stomach and all of my intestines. They found that I had severe ulcers and IBS.
Some days I wont even bother to look in the mirror, and some days I dont even have enough strength to. I find myself asking myself, "Was this really worth all this?" Losing weight so I could feel somewhat better about myself; wasting more than $30,000 of my parents' money for surgery; having therapy every Tuesday. I've lost all my friends and all of my life. And for what - losing a couple of pounds???
Next time you find yourself on the scales, or in the bathroom after you've eaten dinner, ask yourself, "Am I really willing to destroy my life, even the one I am going to have when I get better; the life I really want?"
You never know what type of danger you are putting yourself in.