The following post contains a discussion of eating disorders (bulimia/bulimic), mental health, and alike. If you or someone you know is struggling with similar topics, you can find more information through the National Eating Disorder Association or your local healthcare provider.
Today, I puked.
And not because what I was eating got too old in the fridge, or because I drank too much alcohol the night before. No, today, I puked because my fingers hit the back of my throat and it all came up. It was attempt number two of this morning to try to get the multiple cups of trail mix I had just consumed within a ten minute time span up and out. After all, I had to be in class soon, and I didn’t want to feel weighed down by the calories I just stuffed my face with.
I hit the flusher on the side of the toilet and watched the remnants flush down into the pipes of the Harris-Millis bathroom. Should I have packed an apple for lunch? I don’t want to be cranky at work tonight because I didn’t eat enough. I lift up the tee-shirt on my small frame to check for bloating, to make sure no one else could notice if I was gaining or losing weight. I worked so hard to fit into a size two, and I didn’t want to get fat again. Probably should skip dinner again, I’ll just have some veggies if I get hungry. I had a workout scheduled for today anyway; my goal was to burn around 500 calories.
Today, I am sick. My friend sent me a text this morning and said we should meet up for coffee. I asked if that “coffee” included food, to which I informed him that I was trying to stay away from eating bagels. Too many calories, too many carbs. And the coffee? With almond milk? I’d rather get an Americano. Black. The caffeine is a good appetite suppressant. Or should I say anything? Don’t kid yourself, you’ll probably end up cancelling. Just say you got sick, like you always do.
Today, I reminisce of when I didn’t think about food every time I walked by my kitchen. Now, I have to put locks on the cabinet doors. I can’t buy the almonds I used to like, the ones with the spicy seasoning, because I will eat the whole package, purge, and not eat for two days afterwards.
Today, I went to my doctors appointment and lied through my teeth. Of course I’m seeing someone, I tell her. I tell her that I made plans to find a counselor, or someone that could help me But then I say that I have a meeting, so I can’t talk for long. And I have a pretty crazy schedule, so I don’t think I can schedule another appointment to see her again.
Today, I wonder how, in two years, I was able to go from clinically overweight to clinically underweight. I wonder if I should buy a scale so that I can keep track and send the results to my doctor. But then I consider how often I would be inclined to weigh myself, so I delete the bathroom scale from my Amazon cart.
Today, I wonder if I will ever be able to enjoy meals with my parents without having to count calories or measure servings. Today, I wonder if my mom will ever be able to talk more about herself rather than my health, my weight, and my illness. I long for those questions about my favorite class or my internship instead of how I feel about myself.
Today, I ask what my daughter will think of how I treat my body, and what that will say about how she should treat hers.
Today, I look terrible. There are bursted blood vessels near my eyes and I have somehow forgotten to shower for the past few nights. I slept thirteen hours every night for the past week, but I don’t have enough strength to stay awake at 2pm. The girl in my geography class who sits next to me asks me if everything is okay. I nod, and go back to typing on my computer.
Today, I wonder if this is my forever. I wonder if dreams of having a family are worth it, if this is what they will have to watch me go through. I wonder about how purging hurts more than my ego or my throat, but also the people I care about most.
Today, I wonder how I let it get this bad. I wonder how I managed to avoid talking what I was eating for this long. I wonder how no one said anything until my clothes got baggy, and sentiments of concern were phrased as “congratulations for losing weight.” I wonder how no one mentioned the word bulimic until two years later.
Today, I am a bulimic. And tomorrow, it will be the same.