The summer I was 17, I fell in love with a boy who was visiting my hometown for a month. We spent 22 days straight together. I loved our time, I was so happy, and felt so beautiful. One night I hugged him and made a remark at how skinny he was, and then he said he was self-conscious about it and that he was skinnier than me. We had to part after the 22 days, he moved on and I didn’t, not right away at least. But ever since he’d said that – I’ve had body-image issues, and ultimately an eating disorder. I don’t even think he meant anything of it, but it stuck. Already at a slim 120 lbs, I changed my diet drastically and exercised and lost 15-20 lbs. I had to gain it back, and so I did and have been uncomfortable with it. When I started college I started purging after eating to lose the weight. I’m still trying to get over the bulimia, and think I’m almost there.
I have been bulimic for five years back home I would often leave the bathroom door open. Still–No one ever noticed. I am not entirely certain I want to stop. I worry for my health, but this way it kind of feels like I can have it all. But one thing you should know is it really isn’t a “weight thing.” When you eat such enormous amounts of food, you concentrate on that. You forget your stresses… for a little while. Then when you purge–your heart races. In the end, you feel relieved–not just like a weight is lifted off you, but it literally is. I don’t get that feeling many other places.
Yesterday I cried.
Today I felt like it a few times, but the night is young and I’m still alone, still out of control, and I’m not going to wash my hands of the possibility of tears just yet…
I couldn’t help but feel as I said goodbye to my dad that I was also saying I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for what i’ve done and for what I’m going to do.
I’m sorry that the spirit of his little girl, his oldest little girl, the one he loves so much, is slowly but surely fading.
Being happy is more work now. it doesn’t come as naturally as it did before. it all depends on me and my self control.
What I look like, or what I perceive myself to look like, rather.
It’s hard to be happy when what you do and who you are is never quite good enough.
I’m letting them down because they don’t understand.
They don’t understand how their little girl whom they love so much could refuse to love herself.
They don’t understand how someone, their baby, whom they think is the most beautiful baby in the world, could be unable to see herself as such.
They don’t understand that when I politely refuse a breakfast or a lunch date that it’s the calories that I don’t want, not their company.
My dad doesn’t understand that when I flinch when he hugs me it’s because I don’t want him to feel what’s left of me, not because I don’t need his touch, because there’s nothing I want more than for him to hold me as tight as he possibly can and tell me that it’s All going to be ok. That he’ll fix it, fix me, but deep down I know that no one can take this from me besides myself.
I am my own disease and my own cure.
I am my own worst enemy and my only lifeline.
“Eating disorder not otherwise specified”
Anorexic with bulimic tendencies.
Bulimic with anorexic tendencies.
Whatever the fuck you wanna call it.
5 years and counting.