Anonymous Story Bulimia





I grew up being a chubby kid, with a family who looked at food as something special or exciting. My aunts and uncles would always sneak cookies and candy into my hands when they visited my house, despite my mothers effort to control what I ate. My dad has been obese all his life, and my mother only slightly overweight. Looking at her, she could be considered normal. As I grew older, my weight lingered consistently above the average range, although it was nothing severe. Around eighth grade, certain boys started calling me "chubby" and "fat" to my face, although I never thought I was THAT overweight. Still, it hurt my feelings, but it didn't contribute to anything but more weight gain. After school I would go home and eat a little of everything in the house, until I felt overly full and extremely unhappy with myself.

This phase continued throughout my freshman year of high school. People had grown more mature, so I didn't get the fat jokes that used to come my way. But still, I was unhappy with my personal appearance at about 5'2" and 147 pounds. My mother constantly harped on my unhealthy weight and it made me feel worse. Whenever I went out with friends, all of them being thin and attractive, I felt inferior as guys would flock to them adoringly. More often than not, I was ignored. I always had food on my mind. I'd eat hot pockets for breakfast, fattening cafeteria entrees for lunch with big bottles of caloric pop, followed by after school bingeing until my mom came home and cooked dinner. I never really felt hungry, nevertheless I usually didn't feel full either.

But this past summer, something changed. I'll never understand what provoked my new found willpower, but it dawned on me. I started wasting little bits of my meals, replacing them with small snacks even. And when I did eat a little too much, it didn't matter, because I walked around town with my friend everyday, our walks often totaling six or seven miles. I also had summer swim team practices. If anything, I began eating too little. By the end of the summer, I had dropped to 125 pounds and I was actually excited to go back to school.

Then it all began, bringing me where I am today. I'm not sure if stress and too much homework instigated this cycle which I cannot overcome, but I wish to God it would stop. I began overeating again and the weight piled on, little by little. I wondered, "what if I could just stick my finger down my throat?" In privacy, I attempted it. I became frustrated when it didn't work. I realized the method that worked best for me was clenching my stomach muscles tightly so food would pour out of my mouth, little by little, but silently. I have pretty strong stomach muscles from swim team and the numerous crunches I did daily over the summer. At 135 lbs, I felt I had to loose weight quickly, feeling afraid to look the way I had last year. It was around late October that I began experimenting with regurgitation. It was an acquired skill. Every time I visited the toilet I was able to force more food out of my mouth. I began sticking my finger far down my throat when food didn't want to come up on its own. I still do that when nobody is around to hear me gag. Then I would lapse into periods of fasting, and sometimes near starvation.

Swim season began again. I would eat a small bag of chex mix or popcorn throughout the entire day, then go to an intense after school practice, often lifting weights and then swimming vigorously for nearly two hours. At home I would be afraid to eat dinner, fearing it would lead to instant weight gain. My parents scolded me for not eating enough, but my weight was declining and that was all that mattered to me. On weekends, however, my willpower would vanish. Some nights I would be forced to stay home and baby sit my sister. I ate and ate. Christmas rolled around and I would down immense amounts of frozen Christmas cookies then puke them up in a frenzy. By Christmas day, my starvation/binge/purge mixture had resulted in a weight of 119 lbs. I've had periods of extreme control, where I hardly eat a thing. Then I lose all aspects of control and an insatiable craving for sugary things sweeps over me. I pop a cookie in my mouth and it becomes a lost cause. I got down to 115 and was happy with my weight, but this past weekend I've been eating nonstop and have gained a lot of weight in a little time.

I'm sick of puking. It's gross and I can see the evidence on my teeth. Sometimes I'll be sitting there and a sharp pain will surge throughout my front teeth. They're beginning to rot along the edges. Somehow, my mom has caught on. She keeps begging me to tell her if I'm bulimic. I keep making up excuses, denying that I am, saying she's imagining things. She wants to help me and I feel terrible lying to her. She says I seem depressed. I am depressed. When I start eating now, I can't stop. I try not to start altogether. I skipped breakfast this morning, then wasted half of my lunch. I made up for it by eating a bag of skittles and then a snicker's bar before swim practice. I got home and I've binged nonstop since. Now that my mom's asleep, I can puke in privacy. My stomach has grown enormous in one night. I hate this, but I can't control it anymore. I'm so afraid to tell my mom though. I'll just have to wait and see what happens.