The Story Of Bulimia

Trigger Warning: Descriptions of eating disorders

My point in posting this is to show how an eating disorder can take over your life. Your every thought and feeling, your every action. It becomes an obsession, your only lifeline. The only thing holding you from floating away in the craziness of your own mind. It takes you over until you’re on autopilot and the eating disorder does all the thinking and decision making for you. Don’t want to buy those diet pills for $30 so you can save your money? Too bad, Ed wants you to. Don’t want to overdose on laxatives again? What Ed wants, he gets. It’s scary.

It all started when I was 13. I was looking up “how to be emo” on youtube. I can’t even remember why, I just was, okay? “How to be anorexic” popped up in the suggested searches, so I clicked on it, and it brought me to this whole new world, where thin was the ultimate goal, where eating was unacceptable, where “fat” was the point at which nothing was worth it anymore. It gave me something to focus on as I delved deeper into my mental illness. I looked up tips. I looked up thinspo. I looked up extremely dangerous restrictive diets. Anything related to eating disorders, I would find it on the internet.

I was 14 when I started purging. My every thought was consumed by what I was going to eat when, where I was going to purge, how I was going to purge so my mother didn’t find out, the inches around my thighs and the number on the scale. Every waking moment was a living hell for me. I would track my calories and write them down, protecting my notebook of calories like it was the holy bible in the religion of Ed. Ed guided me down a dark path, where every day I dragged myself out of bed, into the kitchen, over to the fridge, and into my own mind. I would binge uncontrollably, not stopping when I was full, only stopping when I couldn’t move from all the food settling itself in my stomach.

I hated myself. Every day I went to school, I would think to myself, “You’re fat. You’re disgusting. You don’t deserve food.” and I would poke at and inspect my food like it was poison. I would binge when I got home, I wouldn’t purge, because I viewed purging as “taking care” of the binge, and I was a horrible person, so I didn’t deserve that.

This went on for two more years until I was sent to inpatient treatment. Every day I still think about food, all day. It’s the only thing on my mind, but the behaviors have gotten better and more manageable. I would never wish this on anybody.

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