Naomi

I remember the day when I had my first episode of bulimia.

I don’t remember if someone told me I should try doing it, or if I thought of doing it myself.  But I do remember the mood I was in and what proceeded the episode. 

I was at my parents’ house, after school with a boy two years older than me.  I was 15 and not quite sure whether the boy liked me as much as I liked him. When he left my house, I walked up the stairs to the kitchen, and decided I needed to eat something to get rid of the insecure and anxious feelings I was experiencing. Rather than eat a healthy snack, I grabbed a bag of Milano cookies and a big glass of whole milk. I finished off the entire bag, but I wasn’t satisfied because I wasn’t eating to fill my belly… I was eating to get rid of my feelings. So I made two big peanut butter jelly sandwiches. After that I stopped worrying if the boy wouldn’t think I was pretty enough or smart enough. The more I ate the less I thought about the boy. After devouring all the Milano cookies and two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, a very sick bloated feeling came over me. That’s when it dawned on me, I had a ballet recital coming up and a rehearsal to go to. I started to panic. My greatest fear was I would I would blow up and get fat, just like my Mother.  I told myself I needed to do something quick to get rid of the sick feeling in my stomach. After all the nice boy paying attention to me would quickly lose interest in me, if he knew how I treated my body and I certainly didn’t want that to happen. Naturally, I started to deride myself, asking myself what crazy behavior was I acting out? Why would I stuff myself until I could barely breathe? But at the time, I wasn’t really in complete control of my behavior. I couldn’t explain what I was doing. A tidal wave of shame came over me and my head started pounding.

I walked to the bathroom. Closed the door. Turned on the water faucet so my sister or brother wouldn’t hear me. I put two fingers down my throat and started puking. It was a thoroughly sickly gross feeling. After I threw up everything that was in my stomach I sat down as if I was drugged. I didn’t want to admit that I had just done something entirely gross and self-destructive. I told myself, it wasn’t really a problem. In other words I lied to myself. I didn’t want to admit I was sick, and I felt too ashamed to ask anyone for help. For many years, I continued to lie to myself and continued to feel ashamed.

Sometimes, due to dehydration and a lack of electrolytes my whole body would start shaking after bingeing and purging. This is when I went from being an A minus student to being a C student. This is when my body image went from being an 8 to a zero. I started fighting with my parents, and my siblings, eventually I lost the boyfriend, but this didn’t stop me. Even when my gums and teeth started to rot I kept binging and purging. It’s as though I enjoyed hurting myself. I kept it a secret from everyone and walked around pretending everything was normal. In fact, nothing was normal. My relationships with friends and family deteriorated, and I was suffering from depression and low self-esteem. Bulimia is an addiction and it does considerable damage to young women dealing with low self-esteem. My body wasn’t something I wanted to share with others because I didn’t love myself. I tried to hide it. But after many unhappy years of denial and self-punishment I went into therapy and started to address the underlying issues of self-control and self-respect. Today I am healthy, and I no longer feel ashamed. I look at my extra layers of skin with acceptance. I no longer worry what other people think about my body. I know I do not have a perfect body. But it is my body and I choose to love it just the way it is.