My eating disorder began when I weighed around 132 pounds. I am 5”4, so that was getting close to overweight for my height. I was revolted every time I looked in the mirror. I remember I worked at Subway, and I used to eat food while I was working. I was unhappy, and eating made me happy. Plus, we got free meals there, so I ate fatty sandwhiches ever day. At Subway you can make your food either really healthy or really bad, and I chose the really bad selections. At any rate, I began to notice I was gaining a lot of weight because of this. I began chewing and spitting my food, often at work into the trashcan when no one was looking. I didn’t lose any weight, but I wasn’t gaining any weight either, so I thought that was okay. Then I started stealing. I began to eat the frozen cookie dough in the freezer at work, because it really tasted good.
Then I began my first relationship. He was nice enough, I suppose. I just wanted someone to love me. I snuck out at nights to a nearby park to make out with him. He often pinched my stomach and told me I was chubby but that he liked my butt. I was so self-conscious about this, and would often come home from seeing him and eat a lot of ice cream to make myself feel better. This carried on until I broke up with him.
t was my 17th birthday in February, and on that day I vowed to lose weight. I vowed I would not be fat by my next birthday.
I began to count my calories and attempt to restrict and exercise a lot. I was really bad at restricting, though. I began to lose a little weight, but not much. I did pilates every evening and ran occasionally. But I couldn’t control what I was putting my mouth, and I hated myself when I ate my fear foods. I weighed around 126 pounds at this time.
I began a new job at a cafe as a barista. The girls there were really preppy and attractive, and they always talked about weight. All the time. Chocolate has always been a huge weakness for me. The cafe was focused around it’s large selection of chocolates and coffees, so this was a huge trigger for me to binge out. I began hard-core stealing. I brought this huge purse with me to work and filled it up in the back where all the chocolate stock was stored. I am so ashamed to be typing this right now. I brought home all of the chocolate and I ate it in my room at night. I felt so blind and numb as I did it. It made me feel temporarily good.
I skipped as many meals as possible at home while I was working. I pretended I ate meals at work, but really I was having chocolate and lots of coffee. I noticed I lost a couple of pounds on the days I only had a little chocolate with my coffee, and no meals. This made me happy, but led to more binging at night. I used to wake up at 4 am really hungry and I’d sneak downstairs into the kitchen pantry to eat an entire cereal box. Obviously, I felt shitty.
I remember one evening like it was yesterday. It was right before Thanksgiving. My little sister had come to my work and was waiting for me to finish my evening shift so we could go home. I was taking the ice cream from their freezers in the shop and moving them to the freezer next door. I always ate a lot of ice cream when I had them all open in the next door freezer, because no one was there to tell me not to. This particular time I had fasted the entire day, but binged on the ice cream in the freezer. I was so upset, that when I went to clean the bathrooms before closing I attempted my first purge. There it was, in the toilet. All the ice cream. I remember the shock and sudden evil happiness that took over me until I was shaking. I could binge and purge now! I knew what would happen. I knew I was going to be bulimic.
I remember purging Thanksgiving dinner of 2013.
From then on, I vowed to purge everything I ate so I could lose weight. I purged every meal. Then I continue stealing at work and purging it all at home. Then I began buying food after work and binging and purging on that when I got home as well. It slowly became a viscous cycle which I couldn’t stop for the life of me. I loved being able to stuff myself when I was hungry and then purge it all to get the empty feeling back. It was the best of both worlds, and I loved it.
I loved it even more when I began to lose weight. I didn’t want anyone to know I was concerned about my weight, so I would sneak into my parent’s bathroom to weigh myself on their scale. I saw the number slowly decline, and I was beyond happy.
I finally reached my first goal weight of 119. Then I got to 115. My aunt commented on my weight loss at Christmastime and told me I looked incredible and petite. I was so proud of myself and of what she didn’t know. I could see my bones slightly protruding, but not much. I was still fat. Pinching my stomach, I scrunched my eyebrows and felt determined to lose all of it. I began to make myself purge everything until bile came up. Nothing was allowed in my stomach anymore. When I was forced to eat and I knew I wouldn’t be able to purge (like at a restaurant) I had a small salad with very little calories.
My weight dropped down to 109 by my 18th birthday in February, 2014. I had lost a little weight since my last birthday, and I was a little happy. But my sister was getting married in May, and I knew I needed to do better than that if I wanted to look skinny and pretty to be her maid of honor. At this point I was binging and purging up to four times a day or more. My binges were each probably around 2000 calories or more depending on the density of the food. I weighed 103 pounds and my new goal weight was 99 lbs. I had a real boyfriend now, who I am still with. He never really noticed that I was losing weight, but he occasionally told me I was really skinny or that he could see my bones. He himself was underweight, so he didn’t notice as much because of that, I think. I never told him about my eating disorder because I knew it would gross him out.
I continued to maintain 103 pounds until my sister’s wedding. I looked thin in the pictures, but I still wish I had lost more weight and been more consistent. At any rate, over the summer I found a new job as a cashier at a grocery store. I brought home food every night to binge and purge on. I slowly lost my gag reflex, and struggled with purging everything like I used to. I hated it so much, but I couldn’t stop binging. Obviously, I gained weight.
I am now 121 lbs as of this morning. The first time I’ve weighed myself in awhile because I was too scared to. My boyfriend is at college and hasn’t seen me almost twenty pounds heavier. I want to cry and kill myself. I hate how I look so much. Every day it is turmoil for me. The demons in my head are enraged. I’m trying to stop binging and purging, but I don’t know if I can. All I know is I must try and try and try again. I need to be 99 pounds by Christmas. I must be. I don’t care if I’m dying.
As you can see, this disorder has left me a sneaky, lying, rebellious, selfish, fat girl. It is not worth it, trust me. I keep saying I’ll stop. Everyone who develops an eating disorder says that. But I can’t. They can’t. It is an endless cycle, and I don’t know if I’ll ever recover. It is silently killing me.
Because of my disorder I have purged in a plastic bag in my room, lied to my parents about food, spent a large amount of my college money on food which ended up down the toilet, stolen hundreds of dollars worth of food from my work and relative’s house, ripped up my esophagus, permanently bruised my stomach, given me heart palpitations, dizziness, cut knuckles, blackouts, dehydration, hairy legs and arms, ruined my digestive system with laxatives, thrown up in public restrooms, cut myself for the hatred I felt, grew infuriated when someone talked to me of my habits, pushed everyone away, and became a hateful person. My question to anyone who is “pro-ana” or “pro-mia” is this: Do you really want to be me? Do you want to lose your life? Do you really believe skinniness = happiness? Because the truth is that it does not. I am exhausted. Utterly exhausted. You don’t want this. Trust me.