I am sitting on a picnic blanket with my neighbours and roommates. One minute I am eating tomatoes and hummus; the next I am drunk, playing card games and eating a bag of chocolate chips.
Bulimia and alcohol do not mix. I haven’t eaten all day. I am drunk after two glasses of wine. Then I think it is a good idea to eat three peanut butter cookies. My evening of restriction is gone. Sometime around midnight, I am in the kitchen laughing uncontrollably, pouring another drink and funneling chocolate chips down my throat.
Eventually everyone calls it a night. I am so desperate to purge that I don’t care anymore. I run a hot, steamy shower to mask the sound of my vomiting. I stand up and stumble. I am light headed. I grab onto the side of the sink, the tub, I am dizzy. I think for a moment that I am about to faint. Everything happens in slow motion as I fall backwards. I still have more to purge – wine and cookies and liquer and chocolate chips and eventually I get down to the tomatoes and hummus. I don’t care if my roommates can hear me vomiting over the sound of running water. I don’t care. I just want to be empty.