The best thing about my ‘illness’ is that it is a self-fulfilling prophecy. In fearing that I am ugly and fat, I make my fears a reality by eating mountains upon mountains of food and vomiting as much as I can back up again.
Of course, every self-help book I pick up says the same old thing: "Vomiting only gets rid of 30-50% of calories in the food you have just eaten." Considering my binges can contain between 2,000 to 5,000 calories in one sitting, you can see how bulimia can make you very fat, very quickly.
Not to mention the teeth that will soon start dropping out of my already despised smile.
But this is the thing about an eating disorder and mental illnesses in general – they do not recognise sense or logic. I know that bulimia makes me fat. I can feel my teeth and oesophagus eroding away every time I spew my stomach acid through them. I know that I am ruining my body, ruining my health and ruining my life – but it doesn’t really register… or rather, it doesn’t really matter. These plain, hard facts will not make me stop, even though my logic knows that my actions are pushing my further away from the dreams of perfection that drove me to them in the first place.
It’s like when I went to the eating disorders nurse last year. Every Tuesday it was the same, I will spill my heart out and feel like a fool. I would tell her how stupid I was and how stupid I knew it was, and she would reaffirm it. She would tell me over and over what I already knew. I know how I should eat and I know why I should stop. People misunderstand that my illness is caused by a distortion in my head – but there is no distortion – I see myself plainly and clearly in the mirror. I know that bulimia makes me put on weight. I know that my teeth are rotting. I know that I am ruining the life of a beautiful, intelligent, 21 year old girl. I KNOW. I can read a hundred books telling me to stop; I can go to a hundred nurses telling me how to change. I can write it on my arms in marker pens or on posters all around my room. I can understand it. But I cannot do it.
Every time I eat a loaf of bread or a box of cereal I kneel in front of the toilet swearing that tomorrow I will stop eating forever.
I know I cannot do it.
Of course, every self-help book I pick up says the same old thing: "Vomiting only gets rid of 30-50% of calories in the food you have just eaten." Considering my binges can contain between 2,000 to 5,000 calories in one sitting, you can see how bulimia can make you very fat, very quickly.
Not to mention the teeth that will soon start dropping out of my already despised smile.
But this is the thing about an eating disorder and mental illnesses in general – they do not recognise sense or logic. I know that bulimia makes me fat. I can feel my teeth and oesophagus eroding away every time I spew my stomach acid through them. I know that I am ruining my body, ruining my health and ruining my life – but it doesn’t really register… or rather, it doesn’t really matter. These plain, hard facts will not make me stop, even though my logic knows that my actions are pushing my further away from the dreams of perfection that drove me to them in the first place.
It’s like when I went to the eating disorders nurse last year. Every Tuesday it was the same, I will spill my heart out and feel like a fool. I would tell her how stupid I was and how stupid I knew it was, and she would reaffirm it. She would tell me over and over what I already knew. I know how I should eat and I know why I should stop. People misunderstand that my illness is caused by a distortion in my head – but there is no distortion – I see myself plainly and clearly in the mirror. I know that bulimia makes me put on weight. I know that my teeth are rotting. I know that I am ruining the life of a beautiful, intelligent, 21 year old girl. I KNOW. I can read a hundred books telling me to stop; I can go to a hundred nurses telling me how to change. I can write it on my arms in marker pens or on posters all around my room. I can understand it. But I cannot do it.
Every time I eat a loaf of bread or a box of cereal I kneel in front of the toilet swearing that tomorrow I will stop eating forever.
I know I cannot do it.
There is nothing harder, agreed!! I have been there, every day for months and it sucks, there is nothing remotely fun about it. My only advice is to take control back...stop before you grab the bread and you won't land yourself in front of the toilette. Its shitty advice because if it were that easy, who'd even care....i know its hard. Just hang in there little lady :)
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