The first time I threw up I was 11. I had never even heard of bulimia and I wasn't even aware of what I was doing. My family was fighting at dinner, and I was internalizing it and growing anxious. I let all the stress build up in my stomach while I ate. I focused on what I was eating; the food grew in importance as it grew in my stomach. I became increasingly sick feeling while my parents yelled at each other. That dinner ended with my dad accidentally hitting my hand with his fork; it started bleeding. My dad sobbed with anger and guilt and stormed out, stayed at a hotel and he didn't speak to us for a few months. At 11 years old, I stood alone in my bathroom, looked in the mirror, and threw up. I purged all of the feelings of tension and anxiety out of my body. It felt so good. I cried with relief after I threw up. The only thing that's ever felt as good is an orgasm, and I've had way less of those. (Laaaaadies.)
My dad had left because my hand cut was pretty scary, subsequently our family almost broke up because of me. I became intensely guilty of existing, nervous that I was hurting people, ruining the lives of my friends and family. I couldn't handle the shame spiral, a dark downward wave of overwhelming demonic power, keeping me cloaked in darkness. The only way to get the guilt out of me was to throw up. I used it as a coping mechanism for being around people, especially my loved ones.
I threw up several times a week from age 11 to 21. I tried a few times to stop throwing up. But holding the tension in made me want to scream or cut myself. It made me want to curl into a ball and yell into my knees. I needed the bad feelings out. It felt like there was an oozing black smoggy monster inside of me that was pressing against the outter walls of my skin and bones, stretching and pushing at my organs. I was full of evil and I wanted it out of me.
After college I got a therapist. I totally recommend therapy. I got to the point where I would only throw up once every two months. I was doing way better. But I still binge ate when I was stressed; I still looked at food like it represented my feelings; but I wasn't purging as much. It was a step in the right direction, but I was by no means healed.
This December I lost my job, my boyfriend, my apartment. My two best friends and roommates moved to LA, and I moved back in with my parents. I grew more depressed and lonely. I had very few friends. I was miserable, dissatisfied with myself as a writer, myself as a friend and a person. I ran away from my hometown and moved to a different state to escape some of these feelings. And when I did that, I had to say goodbye to my therapist.
Living in a new city, not having a job, not knowing a lot of people, and not having a therapist, left me with no ability to cope with my anxiety. Then I fell in love.. It was unrequitted (surprise!) And I felt so guilty for being around him, for bothering him after he rejected me. It was the exact same feeling as how I felt with my dad. I felt full of evil.
As if it had never left, my bulimia came back. After a few months of not having a therapist I fell hard off whatever semblance of a wagon I had been riding. I had no coping mechanisms for my anxiety. I ate cheesy condensed carbohydrates and candy and I threw them up, and it felt amazing. My career spun out of control in the new city as far as getting so many opportunities and feeling stress about failing them. I increasingly lonely in the new town, and I felt guilt whenever I tried to be around people. I got so that I was throwing up at least once a day. Then I got so I could barely keep down any solid foods. I had to force myself to drink a lot of soup and smoothies.
I knew what I was doing was wrong but I couldn't stop. I was so tightly wound with guilt and hating myself for being sick only made me feel more shame. I started getting very frequent panic attacks. They felt like I couldn't breathe, no matter how much air I got in. My heart would beat so fast I thought my chest would explode. I sort of could barely move when I got them. It just felt like my entire existence was crippled by the dark evil splooge inside of my stomach and heart. I started getting really bad suicidal thoughts when I had my panic attacks.
I really wanted to get better, but at the same time, I needed my bulimia. The aforementioned unrequitted love forced me to go back to therapy. I'm in the process of recovery right now. I am by no means better, but I am working towards it. I'm now throwing up about two times a week, and counting downwards!
If you have bulimia or anorexia, I am SO sorry. I know it hurts and it's awful. You are not alone. If you read this far (and thank you for taking the time) maybe you probably want to get better. I'm not better, but I'm trying, and it's all I think about, so I can share what I'm learning.
GO TO A THERAPIST! You'll find one that you can afford. DO IT!
Drink alcohol less, it is a depressant and the next day it causes anxiety
Exercise a few times a week, don't overdo it.
MEDITATE this really helps
If you feel panicky, accept the thoughts, let them wash over you and then pass you by.
Do breathing exercises.
Spend time in nature.
Sleep seven to eight hours a night.
Every time you want to do something like throw up, instead do something nice or text a friend a kind thought. Being there for others will make you feel better and you'll be there for yourself.
Avoid food that you usually binge on (pizza, burritos)
Practice mindfulness.
Take care of yourself, buddies. YOU ARE LOVED. The world is a beautiful magical place full of compassionate, interesting, artistic, passionate people. Don't let your anxiety keep you from that. Everyone has a special inner light in their soul and I appreciate yours. Namaste.
I love you. Love yourself enough to get better.
