Mental Health Mondays: The Bulimia Bible 1.0 The First Purge
"No one will like you if you're fat."
"Boys won't want you if you're heavy."
It's been 13 years since those words were said to me.
They still echo through my head, mostly when I least expect it.
Those words were the start of my life.
They were the end of my life.
It was at 13 that I learned that vomiting would make you beautiful.
It would make you everything you wanted and would make everyone
want you. Little did I know, that complete opposite is true of all of that.
I tell people who are thinking of starting to purge, never to start it.
In the last month, I've felt a lot of control slipping from me.
I feel my depression deepening and my self-worth evaporating.
Most days, I want to just disappear and that I was never born.
I'm falling back into old habits, but not as severe as before. It's
like I'm walking a tightrope and underneath me is razor wire.
It didn't happen overnight. It snowballed until it was something
greater than I. I will never forget the first purge. I'd been called down
to the kitchen by my mother on a Saturday in the early spring. The anger
and disgust in her voice coated the walls and tied my stomach in a knot. I knew
I was in trouble, I just didn't know what for. I dragged myself into the kitchen where
I found her and my father standing there, along with my siblings. "Who ate cheese?"
Every cell in my body wanted to vanish. I wanted to vanish. No one answered, so she
asked again, only louder. "Who ate all the fucking cheese?" All of it? She had the package
out on the counter, so obviously it wasn't all gone.... I figured I'd own up to it so they yelling
would stop and I could go hide in my room. "I had some." "How much do you weigh?"
Her words pierced me. So, this is what it's about. She knew all along it was me and jumped at
the chance to show her dominance over everyone. "I don't know." I tried to act like I wasn't
bothered, but I was bleeding inside. I'd always hated myself, my body, but her public shaming
was tearing me apart.
"I want you to get on this scale in front of us and show us all just how much you weigh." I wanted
to cry. I knew that if I did, she would have won. "I don't want to." I took a small breath. "I'm happy with how I look and I'm average. I'm fine." Like Voldemort, her eyes seemed to glow red. "You are going to get on that scale, either in front of everyone or just in front of your father and I. She made me get on the scale. 9.7 stone. "Do you want to be fat like your sister? Go on and eat like she does and you'll be a big fat cow like her in now time." The number repulsed me. I was five foot five at the time. I felt even more whale-like than I ever before.
I went upstairs to my secret stash. I ate everything I could get my hands on. I wanted to get rid of the shame, hate and embarrassment I was feeling. Then I panicked. I wanted to get it all out. I knew that if you vomited, you could lose weight. I needed to lose weight. I went in the bathroom and tried sticking my fingers down my throat like I'd read in a book or a magazine. It was no use. I was getting desperate. I wanted this out of me before I got even fatter. I needed something to help me. I took out the toothbrush and pushed it down my throat. A sea of brownish goo spilt out of me. Goodbye, Chocolate. I did it five or six more times until my throat was too sore to continue. I gagged each time, coughed and felt my head spin. It was a rush of fear and amazement. If I can do this, what else can I do?
For me, the bulimia was less to do with weight, but it was a way to punish myself for failures and imperfections; even if the imperfections were just in my head or an untruthful remark made by someone else. The pain brought me comfort and I could do it without getting caught. With cutting, there were obvious signs I was harming myself and the stigma of it is another burden I wasn't wanting to deal with. I also believed that if I was perfect, that most of the negativity would go away...that the bullying from all sources would go away and I could finally live a life without fear.
I don't blame a specific person or cause for what's happened, as there are so many factors that go into something like this. As I continue to explore the issues, I'll update...but for right now, I'm lost without a compass.
I feel my depression deepening and my self-worth evaporating.
Most days, I want to just disappear and that I was never born.
I'm falling back into old habits, but not as severe as before. It's
like I'm walking a tightrope and underneath me is razor wire.
It didn't happen overnight. It snowballed until it was something
greater than I. I will never forget the first purge. I'd been called down
to the kitchen by my mother on a Saturday in the early spring. The anger
and disgust in her voice coated the walls and tied my stomach in a knot. I knew
I was in trouble, I just didn't know what for. I dragged myself into the kitchen where
I found her and my father standing there, along with my siblings. "Who ate cheese?"
Every cell in my body wanted to vanish. I wanted to vanish. No one answered, so she
asked again, only louder. "Who ate all the fucking cheese?" All of it? She had the package
out on the counter, so obviously it wasn't all gone.... I figured I'd own up to it so they yelling
would stop and I could go hide in my room. "I had some." "How much do you weigh?"
Her words pierced me. So, this is what it's about. She knew all along it was me and jumped at
the chance to show her dominance over everyone. "I don't know." I tried to act like I wasn't
bothered, but I was bleeding inside. I'd always hated myself, my body, but her public shaming
was tearing me apart.
"I want you to get on this scale in front of us and show us all just how much you weigh." I wanted
to cry. I knew that if I did, she would have won. "I don't want to." I took a small breath. "I'm happy with how I look and I'm average. I'm fine." Like Voldemort, her eyes seemed to glow red. "You are going to get on that scale, either in front of everyone or just in front of your father and I. She made me get on the scale. 9.7 stone. "Do you want to be fat like your sister? Go on and eat like she does and you'll be a big fat cow like her in now time." The number repulsed me. I was five foot five at the time. I felt even more whale-like than I ever before.
I went upstairs to my secret stash. I ate everything I could get my hands on. I wanted to get rid of the shame, hate and embarrassment I was feeling. Then I panicked. I wanted to get it all out. I knew that if you vomited, you could lose weight. I needed to lose weight. I went in the bathroom and tried sticking my fingers down my throat like I'd read in a book or a magazine. It was no use. I was getting desperate. I wanted this out of me before I got even fatter. I needed something to help me. I took out the toothbrush and pushed it down my throat. A sea of brownish goo spilt out of me. Goodbye, Chocolate. I did it five or six more times until my throat was too sore to continue. I gagged each time, coughed and felt my head spin. It was a rush of fear and amazement. If I can do this, what else can I do?
For me, the bulimia was less to do with weight, but it was a way to punish myself for failures and imperfections; even if the imperfections were just in my head or an untruthful remark made by someone else. The pain brought me comfort and I could do it without getting caught. With cutting, there were obvious signs I was harming myself and the stigma of it is another burden I wasn't wanting to deal with. I also believed that if I was perfect, that most of the negativity would go away...that the bullying from all sources would go away and I could finally live a life without fear.
I don't blame a specific person or cause for what's happened, as there are so many factors that go into something like this. As I continue to explore the issues, I'll update...but for right now, I'm lost without a compass.
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