I've thrown up so many meals in so many bathrooms since I graduated in 2008. I dabbled in being bulimic before that - I recall camping for family vacation and purging in the public restroom, a few other times before that, but nothing more than experimentation. Back then I was more into self-harm... Scratching. That's how I coped. I cried and wrote and scratched. Then, when bulimia kicked in really hard, I never looked back. I think I've only scratched about three times in the past 8 years. But I've purged hundreds. 4 different homes I've lived in, the restrooms at almost every job I've ever had, friend's bathrooms when I stayed at their houses, and dozens of restaurants... I've purged more times than anyone could ever keep track of.
It's weird to think how normal it is for me. How it's become a part of my history and to some extent, my personality. How casual it was for me to do it at one point. But somehow, I have never thought of myself as someone who's bulimic. I never used that word to describe myself, because that word doesn't fit me. I'm fairly normal. I'm educated. I have good relationships. I never had any crazy trauma like being abused or raped. I might have low days, but I don't have depression. And my parents did nothing to make me turn out like this. If I was an episode of some TV drama, there would be no tragic backstory that made me this way.
I don't look like a bulimic. I don't look like what anyone in society would say a bulimic girl looks like. But that's the scariest part about bulimia. Bulimia looks like everyone. It looks like a blonde with a hot fiancé and two great step kids who's getting a masters degree in counseling. It looks like someone who goes to work and pays all her bills and laughs and smiles and has great friends. It looks normal. And happy. On the outside.
But inside its grotesque. It's a compulsion. It's a nagging little demon that makes you go through drivethrus or to gas stations or restaurants. It takes your money and shoves food down your throat and makes you throw it back up. I used to think it was about being thin, but it's not. It's a way to handle stress. It's a way to cope with self-hatred. It's a way to feel better when you know you'll never BE better. It's backlash from one comment or thought or event... It's a way to get all the negativity out of your brain through your stomach and mouth.
But it HURTS. It makes you feel ugly and gross and insane and addicted. It rips up your body and spills it out. And the process is painful. Burning and scratching and stinging.
But it's also pleasurable. When you let it digest just enough, eat the right foods, the right amounts, do the process the right way, it's easy. It all comes spilling back out. All the pain and mistakes and negative feelings rush out of your body, and you can start over. You can breathe. You fixed it. You fixed what was wrong and have a second chance.
But the second one is sadly never enough. You need a third, fourth, fifth, hundredth. You need a million chances. Because you can never get it right. You always feel like a loser. You always fuck up. And you always have to fix it.
Because all that matters is the relief.
I'm determined not to let this cycle continue... I realize sometimes I can't help it. Sometimes I just have those moments when the emotional shit is too much, and I need it... But I don't want to do it to be thin. I don't want to use that method to achieve the body I want right now.
Right now I want to restrict. I want to just stop fucking up. I want to stop making mistakes and needing those chances.
I did well today. Against all odds, and on a day I would have done badly usually, I did just fine. I'm going to bed with an empty stomach and a clear conscience. I know if I just make every day like today that there will be no issues. Mia will stay away. Or at least she'll only appear on occasion.
I have to do this. I have to stop the madness and quiet my brain and achieve perfect. I want to be perfect. I know they say it's not possible, but I want to try. And I want to get as close to it as possible.
And perfect girls don't throw up their meals. Their meals are beautiful and light and digest perfectly in their thin bodies. There's no need to throw up when you're perfect. There's no need to hate yourself or be sad. There's no need for emotional relief because everything is just so fucking happy. And I need this.
I need happy and perfect. And I won't stop until I have both at the same time.