B is for BULIMIA

I had so many words in mind for the letter "B" (by now I suppose you get what this blog is about) so many things I actually wanted to talk about; beauty, betrayal, brown (yes, the color) but I chose this because the little monster I had finally managed to put to sleep 2 years ago has risen again and is biting back at me!

let's go back in time...
My bulimia started when I was 15, right after I finished high school.
I'd been really scared I might not do well on my exams in my final year, so every time I took a bite out of anything, I threw it up involuntarily. that year I lost a good 7 kilos off my weight, and people all started commenting on how good I looked...
I'd been a fitness freak all my life, but I was never really able to get rid of all that baby fat. when I threw up the extra 7 kilos, I thought to myself that maybe it was just the easy way out...
and this is how it all started...

since then, my binges have come and gone, there were times when I vomited up to five times a day, other times I went on for months and months without even thinking about it...

the thing is, I don't do it to lose weight, it's true I go through the typical bulimic phases of eating much more than a normal person can handle in a certain amount of time then I feel guilty about it, walk right into the bathroom and painfully watch my food come out the way it got in. but I'm almost always certain that this is not helping me lose weight or maintain the figure I have!
it's true I'm obsessed with my figure, and I admit that I'm a work out maniac and that I can't tolerate a little bit of fat around my waistline. But I also know that even when I'm the fattest I can be these days, I'm still considered skinny!
so why do I do it?!
I know enough about psychology to know that bulimia is sometimes a sign of depression, does that make me depressed?!
I think I am these days, and I think my binge-purge shit get worse when I AM depressed.
but I'm making it stop, starting from today, starting from right now!

I would get professional help if I had enough money for the ridiculously expensive (and eventually useless) sessions. you walk into the shrink's office and all he offers to do is write a prescription of an anxiolytic "it'll make you less stressed out", he says. "thank you, but no thanks" I say. I have too many family members who walk around like zombies cause they're too knocked up on depression medication! I'd rather be a little "stressed out" thank you very much!

I'm planning to get myself some self-help books though... (a round of applause for my thinking positively, please?!)

what I need to say is (mostly to myself), I know that it's a disgusting habit! and I know that in real life, a very few people know about this, I told them shortly after it got outta hand because I seriously needed help. Everyone thinks I quit! and I did, right about a million times!
the rate is lower of course, ever since I started working out regularly and got enough endorphins pumped into my system, things got better for me. when things got really bad in my life and I was too busy breaking down and pulling myself together, I hardly had any time to think about food in the first place. sometimes I just forget about the whole thing...
but right now, these past couple of weeks, it's happened too many times to keep count. it's happened too many times to the extent that I'm scared one time I'll find one of my teeth going down the toilet with the rest of my food! the whole thing is just SCARY!

I wrote this, a few years back, I thought I'd post it again...

"just one more bite, I tell myself...I feel myself getting sick and still I push the food down my throat, I know what's to come next.
my hands are moving as though they belong to someone else, with that continuous robotic movement. and I don't stop except when I'm done with it all. I remind myself to chew well and not to drink any water, because if I do then I have to wait a while before I do it, and waiting means more pain.
I move the plate aside and walk hypnotized to the bathroom, not wanting to but doing it anyway. I walk inside and lock the door.
soon it will be over, I tell myself, just don't think about it and it will be over soon.
the toilet glares at me with it's shiny ivory color, it almost seems to be laughing at me, and I look away. but it's too late to stop now. I lift the seat up and kneel beside it.
just this last time, I'll never do it again...
the next few minutes pass by so fast, I feel my fingers pushing down my tongue, my stomach lurches and I watch the contents of my last meal go down the same way they came in.
good, I think to myself, I don't taste the acids (they hurt) it's a good thing I didn't wait long. I can taste it all, last in first out, starting from the tuna sandwich to the very last chocolate. it makes me sick but I don't stop except when it's over.
for a few seconds I stay with my head down, catching my breaths and waiting for my heart rate to return back to normal.
I wash my hands and brush my teeth (eroded and ugly) then I glance at my half-digested meal before I flush it, feeling disgusted about myself. Never again, I promise myself as I look in the mirror with my blood shot eyes. I look away and go outside, probably thinking about my next meal."