My Eating Disorder (Read with Caution)

Once upon a time there was a sick girl who wanted nothing more than to be empty, to be skinny, and to be left alone. This girl remained in captivity until one night her knight in shining armor came to rescue her.

The knight in shining armor was herself.

Now, its time to get fit, stay healthy, and embrace life with a positive mindset, freed from the disease.

In 2007 I had my first meeting with ED. I would not have admitted that it was a problem, because I was only “testing the waters” so to say. Here’s how it happened.

I had been with my boyfriend for seven months. It wasn’t what you would call the healthiest of relationships, but I liked him nonetheless and with every negative there was a positive. Once he broke up with me and immediately started dating a girl I knew, I was devastated. After that, I wanted to change everything about myself…I wanted to wipe away the old me and clean up my image. I became extremely self-conscious about the way my body looked. I went to the gym every day, I played field hockey and lacrosse, I ate a normal diet…but I just wasn’t getting the results I needed. I realized that I didn’t want to be tone and in-shape…I wanted to be skinny, like the other girls. I had always had an athletic body and I accepted that because I was constantly surrounded by other athletes of all shapes and sizes. My body endured through the hottest practices and games, running in the pouring rain, push-ups in the snow, miles on top of miles…it was my powerhouse and I needed it to be strong. My mindset was changing, as the monster slowly started to creep in.
I made myself sick every now and then, just to push me forward. If I ate too much pizza, I knew that if a good run didn’t make me feel better I had an alternative. The more I turned to this alternative, the weaker my body became. I would have to sit out of runs at lacrosse practice, I became easily irritated with people and I kept to myself. Still, I wouldn’t have said I had an eating problem. Once I went away to college, everything took a turn for the worse.
I played field hockey my freshman year of college. I was too busy running around at practices, training, and playing games to even think about taking away any of the necessary fuel and energy I received from food. Once field hockey season was over, the self-conscious thoughts came back. I lived in a single room dorm and shared a community bathroom with the other girls on my floor. Using the bathroom to purge was completely out of the question, so I turned my music up real loud, bent over my trash can, and went to work. I didn’t have much success with these purging episodes in my dorm, but it didn’t discourage me. The summer before my sophomore year of college started the downfall, it was when I finally admit I had a problem.
I had gotten used to releasing the food I had eaten, knowing I could purge gave me a feeling of comfort to eat whatever I wanted and quickly discharge it from my system before it took its effects (which is completely false by the way, food begins to break down as soon as it enters your mouth). Friends started to notice I was losing weight, and I liked it. People I had not seen in months commented on how skinny I was getting, even though to me skinny was still far away. The bones in my chest began to show, and my rib cage was becoming more noticeable. Still, I had thick field hockey legs and arms that I was not satisfied with…so the purging continued.
I couldn’t stop. I realized it was bad when I tried to go a day without purging and I couldn’t. I confessed to myself that I had an eating problem, but I wouldn’t put a title to it just yet. The summer before sophomore year of college was when the purging became more than just a bad habit…it became an addiction, it became the disease. Not only was I looking thinner, but I was isolating myself from all of my friends and family, I was tired from the moment I woke up until the moment I went to bed, I didn’t want to do anything except lay around, I hated food but I couldn’t stop eating it, I hated feeling full, I hated being bloated, I hated eating in front of people. I loved the feeling of emptiness, I loved the rush I got from purging, I loved the satisfaction that sunk in after an episode. I loved the attention I was getting from the change in body image. But in general, I hated my life.
Now, let’s fast forward to my junior year of college (even though a lot happened in between, in general…everything just kept getting worse). I was purging four to five times a day. I didn’t even care if people knew anymore, no one had a chance of taking it away. Purging was my comfort, it was my security, it was what I controlled. Unfortunately, I didn’t have control over it at all. All it took was a bite of food to send my mind and stomach whirling. My cheeks were sunken in to my face, my eyes had deep dark circles around them, I was always cold, I was extremely pale, my teeth were yellowing, my hair and nails were very brittle, my throat was torn and I constantly had acid reflux. I didn’t want to be a part of this world anymore. I didn’t want to suffer anymore, but I couldn’t break away…I was too weak. The monster laughed in my face every time I tried to end the vicious cycle. I was chained down to a life of misery and inevitably death. I stopped caring about myself, over half of the people I knew, and what would eventually happen to me. I hated the position I was in, but at the same time I loved everything about it. I was alone, in a dark world of haunting demons and terrifying monsters. A world in which I could not escape. Every time I purged I immediately went to the mirror to look at my stomach. My ribs were more visible than my own skin. I had a devious look on my face as if the monster was showing through and wearing me as a mask. I crumbled up into a ball, lit a cigarette, and patiently waited for the next purging episode. I sat alone in my room with my hoodie on, the lights off, and music playing just low enough so I could barely hear it.
By this point I had been to the hospital numerous times. Every time the doctors told me my body was shutting down on me and I needed to fix it. Yeah right. If only it was that easy. I knew this disease was out of hand, pure evil, and getting close to ending my life, when I continued to purge after I had surgery.
My abdominal had just been operated on. Muscle, skin, and organ tissues had been ripped apart and needed time to repair. I had a fresh cut right on my stomach, from my belly button down to my waist line. After I was sent home from the hospital I was in excruciating pain. I couldn’t move out of my bed for days. And then…I tried eating solid food again. I thought I would be okay, but it turns out…when the doctors removed the tumor and the ovary..they missed the monster. I took a thick folded up blanket and held it against my stomach to brace myself, and I began to purge into my trash can in my bedroom. It hurt more than any other pain I had ever felt, but I couldn’t stop. After I purged, I took my bandage off to inspect my incision, to be sure that I didn’t rip it open. Sadly, I continued this process for about two weeks until I decide to make the biggest change of my life.

I still remember every feeling I’ve had during a purging episode. I tried not to eat as long as I possibly could, until I couldn’t bear the hunger anymore. I stared into my refrigerator and pantry with no avail. It didn’t matter what I ate, it would be coming out of me anyway. I ate an apple, or pasta, or a piece of chocolate, or cereal…no matter what it was, it was a definite trigger. My stomach filled up with food and began to expand. I could feel the bloating. Then the voices erupted. They would scream at me to get the food out of me. The screaming went on and on and on, it drove me insane. The only way to stop the screaming to was empty myself out. My heart would race, I felt a rush of anxiety and couldn’t sit still, my stomach was uneasy, and I made any attempt to find a toilet or trash can or secret spot where I could end the screams. Once I found that toilet or trashcan or whatever else, I purged. I purged for five minutes, I purged for forty-five minutes. Whatever it took. The feeling was a thrill, and I knew when it was over my mind would be silenced. I felt the anxiety disappear, the shame was erased, the voices quieted. When it was all over I stood up, and I could see the monster in my eyes smiling. Then I smiled. Brushed my teeth. Flushed the toilet. Washed my hands. And went away, until the next episode.

Everything changed on February 1st, 2011. And that day of change started a progressive routine that has gotten me where I am today.