I take 12 extra strength laxatives before bed and a handful of vitamins for good measure. I have followed my usual daily routine of green tea, rice crackers and egg whites all day. I round it up with a hot yoga class, then I come home and binge on salad, cheese strings and cereal before purging it all back up. I spend all day thinking about what I can eat, when I can eat it and how I can get rid of it. I am so distracted by food that it rules my life – the lack of it, the excess of it. My day revolves around calories. I can’t sleep at night because of the excruciating stomach cramps and hourly runs to the toilet. I almost don’t make it through ballet class because I am so badly hung over from bulimia. I get chills. I am dizzy. I have no energy at all.
I refuse dates with men because they all revolve around food. I excuse myself from parties early to go home and puke. I make plans with friends around my obsession with food and exercise. I suggest going for drinks instead of going for dinner. I eat a few lettuce leaves and get the rest ‘to go’. I avoid the staff lounge which is laden with treats and cake every time someone has a birthday.
I have begun to ignore my coworkers concerned comments. Yesterday one of them (let’s call him A), actually put me in his car, drove me to the grocery store and bought me carrots and hummus. He sat in my office and begged me to eat them. I tried to tell him that he was overreacting but he saw through my BS. It is the closest I have come to being force-fed in a long time. I saw an old teaching friend today that I hadn’t seen in a month. “You are so skinny, my dear!” she said. I laughed and told her it was just part of the break up diet. The other teachers rolled their eyes and exchanged looks that I pretended not to notice.
Every day I wake up and look in the mirror to see what damage has been done from my frequent binges. I check my stomach to see if it is flat or even concave. I count bones: hips, clavicles, scapulae, ribs just to see if they are still there. Every night I go to bed with a stomach full of pills, my throat raw and my knuckles scraped. I cannot see what they are talking about. I look the same. I am far too big to look sick. It makes me feel silly that they treat me like there is something wrong with me when I look so normal.
I am in a desperately brutal cycle that I cannot get of. I would love (as always), to get back to pure restricting without the binge/purge/laxative conundrum. I don’t know how though. I am possessed. I am out of control. I am sick.