Essays On Bulimia

Essays On Bulimia-9
I have to go, too.” I pray for a single stall so I can be free of the anxiety of another patron or friend walking in.If someone accompanies me to the restroom, as women are ought to do, I burn with rage both at my friend and at my failure to execute my plan.

I have to go, too.” I pray for a single stall so I can be free of the anxiety of another patron or friend walking in.

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He knows I am sick; he has sat with me after an anxiety attack sent me to the bathroom during Christmas dinner, rubbed my arm when I cried how I will never be good enough.

He tells me every day that I am beautiful, and even though I need it, I never believe him. This is the hardest meal because despite waking up hungry, I don’t want to let go of that feeling of lightness, of an empty stomach, of control.

I’ve always thought of my eating disorder as an addiction, but instead of drugs or alcohol, my vice is food.

I can’t escape the thing that is killing me because it’s also the thing that keeps me alive.

I wish I could eat pizza and ice cream on a Saturday night and not hate myself when I’m done.

I wish I didn’t compare my body to every other body I encounter, literally sizing myself up and always missing the mark.My roommate taught me how to induce vomiting when I got too drunk, and after a few tries, I was a natural. Soon, my hair began to fall out and I was spitting up blood.I was light-headed, pale-skinned, and underweight, but it wasn’t enough.Each piece describes a singular and unique experience.These essays are not meant to be representative of every diagnosis, but to give us a peek into one person’s mind so we may be more empathetic to all Memories with my eating disorder begin in a middle school cafeteria in southern Virginia.My anorexia faded to the background when bulimia came into my life in college.Both disorders existed alongside each other, one to complement the other, but bulimia quickly became my greater love.Then there is the attempt to break away from the table and get to the bathroom unaccompanied.One the most horrifying phrases a bulimic will ever hear is, “Oh you’re going to the restroom?When I go to dinner with friends, I feel shame looking over the menu.It’s as though the others can read the desire for a cheese board and brownie sundae on my face, and I am instantly ashamed.


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