Tag Archives: drunkorexia

I only feel good when I am drinking or eating. I have been drinking excessively every night since I left home a month ago. I have been restriciting a bit, bingeing a bit, purging a bit. I have finally gone back to gym to try get off some of the weight I have gained. I eat at work to ease my anxiety, I rush home to find a bottle of wine or rum or gin and to cry myself to sleep. I know I am depressed. I only want to eat until I feel nothing, to drink until I pass out.

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The “V” Gene

“Hello giant,” a coworker greets me at ballet. I am wearing some sky scraper heels and trying unsuccessfully to hide the 10lbs I have gained since June.

“Please don’t remind me that I have giant genetics,” I implore him.

“Oh you have the “V” gene,” he says giving me a salacious look. “V for voluptuous”

My jaw drops in horror.

“Don’t say that to her,” another co-worker interrupts. “She thinks voluptuous means ‘fat’.”

Well we all know that’s what it means.

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I never want to eat again.

If this is the last breath that I draw, it is too much; it is enough.

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We go to the wedding today. I wear 2 different outfits: one to the ceremony and one to the reception. I don’t eat all day so that I might look vaguely acceptable (to myself or perhaps some passers by). My boyfriend doesn’t look at me, or notice me, or comment on my apprearance. Given the horrible things he said a few days ago when I was trying on dresses for this event, maybe it is a blessing – you know the kind they say come in “disguise”.

I starve and I primp and I preen. I paint my face and curl my eyelashes and spritz and tease and my legs are tanned and my collar bones are glittered. I brush and comb and fuss and tuck and pin and change and inspect and criticize and adjust and ruefully accept the outcome. We arrive at the ceremony and he says a blanket “you guys looks snazzy” to all 3 of us. Snazzy…the epitomy of compliments. The truth is he only has eyes for his daughter. When she is around, his son and I cease to exist.  I get compliments from his friends at the wedding. Complete strangers talk to me in the washroom telling me they like my dress or hair. One woman hugs me and uses the word “gorgeous”. My boyfriend barely acknowledges me. He is disconnected, preoccupied and I am just the maid who had fed and cleaned and dressed and delivered his children to him while he has been drinking with his friends. 

He takes his daughter “for a walk” which is code for calling her mother. I sit at a table for ten fat, repulsive and alone, staring  into my appetizer, looking for love. After the briefest pretense I walk away from the table and in my high heels and lace and pearls and curls, I toss back up the disappointment. There is not enough wine to soothe my discontented soul. 

His daughter is sick and whiny. She takes up all our attention. There is no time for “us”. There is no hand holding. There is no smiling into each other’s eyes. There is no dancing at this wedding. I hold her and she fidgets, unhappy. He holds her. She cries for cupcakes. No matter what we do, she is fractious. We are home by 10:09pm on a Saturday night. I wanted to slow dance in his arms and dream of our wedding which we both know (but won’t acknowledge) will never happen. The kind of things you do when you are only 9 months into a relationship. I wanted the overflow of love and happiness from this union to flood out hearts. But there are children to take care of  and his stomach is upset by the Indian food (which I hear about in graphic, unromantic detail), so we go home. I pour myself wine in the kitchen, take out the flower from my hair while my boyfriend puts his daughter to bed. His woefully neglected son comes to me in the kitchen and tells me that he feels like we don’t love him. I wrap my arms around him knowing exactly what that feels like and hating myself for not being able to stop him from feeling it too. 

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Post Purge Hangover

Bulimia hangover.

I wake up feeling like I have been run over. I look awful: eyes puffy with dark circles, fat face, dull skin. My stomach is empty, burning full of bile and nothing else. My throat feels like I swallowed glass. I am exhausted, dehydrated, migrainey. I am empty.

I hate the morning after a purge. I love the feeling that stays with me long after the hangover. The numbness and calm; the anxiety ebbing away.

Everything is beautiful this morning: my boyfriend and the children (even at 6am), our life together…all the chaos that upsets me doesn’t seem to matter. The lack of control is negated because I have found control elsewhere. I stroll into the day calorie free, armed only with coffee and I know I can do this. I can starve even though my anxiety will spike in a couple of hours. I can curb it later with wine and if I have to eat, I can purge that too. All is right in my world, if not well. All is as it should be: familiar and comforting, soothing to my tormented soul. My demons are placated.

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I have been slowly falling back into my ED habits. I say slowly because part of me is not sure if this is going to set off another bout of kidney issues. I am consciously restricting (although it is not very severe at the moment) and the purging is becoming more regular. Thankfully, my binges are not of epic proportions at the moment, so it is easier to hide. The few months of not engaging in ED behaviours when I thought that was causing my kidney problems, are over. I am so thankful to be able to cope for now. Tonight I knew dinner was going to be purged. My plan was to come home and not eat after being disgusted by myself all day. Lately, I have become more aware of myself size-wise and the usual loathing for the sight of my naked flesh is back. It started with a photograph of me in a bridesmaid dress that I will be wearing in June. I was blown away by how huge I was. “Beached whale” sprang to mind and has not left since. The last month I have been suffering terrible distress over my relationship and it’s never-ending complications and drama. I found that purging eased my anxiety. There are only so many nights you can freak out, sob yourself to sleep and expect your boyfriend to remain understanding. Part of my distress is that I think there are things he doesn’t understand or doesn’t care to.

On Saturday night we were out for dinner with 3 other couples and their kids. We got to the restaurant and everyone was picking their seats when my boyfriend suddenly disappeared. He was outside on the phone to the mother of his daughter and it drove me insane. For the two hours that we were out as a family, he had to go outside so that his child could talk to her mom because it would be totally unreasonable for her to wait until the morning. I understand that I am just supposed to “get it” and go along with it, but I lost my mind. Everyone else was sitting there with their partner and mine was nowhere to be seen. Rude to our friends and more than rude to me and I have no intention of tolerating it. The situation is so ridiculous and yet even more is asked of me. Every few days it is a massive ordeal of me breaking down, crying and having to explain it to him. I know it can’t go on like this. If he doesn’t eventually get it without me having to point out every unreasonable thing that I’m just expected to tolerate, then I can’t survive. I figured he knew how much he had to ask of someone to be with him in his situation and that would mean that every effort would be made to make it bearable not the opposite.

Back to ED. We got back from the restaurant on Saturday evening, he went to put his child to bed and I went to throw up. The relief was immediate. I remembered why purging works: the numbness after. Tonight, after eating dinner, despite my intentions not to (mmm…pasta), I waited for him to take his daughter for a bath. Bath time upsets me because I can’t be a part of it. It is the time when she calls her mother (and they all pretend I don’t exist) and I am left to clean up dinner and the kitchen, parent the other child who barely gets a look in, tidy up and make lunches for school. It upsets me, but then what part of sharing my boyfriend’s time and attention with his kids and their mothers doesn’t upset me? So tonight I waited til bath time knowing that as usual, he is so focused on her that I can get away with whatever I want and he will never notice. I glugged a couple of glasses of wine (which I know I should give up, but I can’t) and purged dinner while he was upstairs with his child and I was quietly “not existing”.

It is the only way I know how to cope. It will mean that I, and more importantly we, can survive this.

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Every day for three days, I drink rather than eat. The calories in alcohol no longer scare me. I hang out with friends and we have a glass or two of wine. They eat. I don’t. I am drunk immediately, all traces of tolerance have vanished. My boyfriend picks me up for dinner and pours me more wine. I am swaying faintly in his kitchen from lack of nourishment and distress. He is determined to feed me. I wash away the guilt with another sip. I jokingly tell him that I am not an alcoholic. He laughs and kisses me. I wish I could tell him of the demons he has yet to meet.

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Saturday Night Date


“I picked up a pizza for dinner tonight. I have wine for us too.”

Hold the pizza, pass the wine.

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Dieting Young


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Saturday Night

Saturday NIght

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.

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