Confessions of a foodaholic
I'm ashamed; in my head, I know better. Or DID know better, before my mind became diseased. I used to be normal, I think...although the body image insecurities and complaints of being fat have plagued me since my awkward 11 year-old, fifth grade chubby stage. I don't share the following to blame her, but my Mom did address the issue of my weight when I was quite young and hormones started changing and a little belly pooch developed. I have stressed about getting fat ever since. But my friends, family, and Fiance don't know the extent of it. I threw up with intent to lose weight about one year ago. It was off and on last summer...I threw up in a portable toilet at a family reunion in June; no one suspected. I started getting a helpless feeling every time I ate anything. It wasn't until August, when I was on a stupendously fun vacation with my sister and aunt and uncle in California that I started losing absolute control.
I am 19 years of age, 5' 9", X lbs, and in the last year I have fallen in love with my childhood sweetheart and he with me, we're engaged to be married in two months, and yet my bulimia has worsened and my sanity has gone completely down the toilet, as it were. I should be the happiest girl in the world, and yet the most perfect summer of my life is overshadowed with bulimia stories. I AM pitiful.
The story I recall as the most horrifying (until it worsened to a point where I don't care) was last September, and we were moving my grandparents from their house to a smaller apartment. A day after a fun family reunion (my family is so big and fun and on the surface, I loving every minute), my aunts gathered and we got the house emptied and cleaned. And we ate. Had a jolly time! Until I went back, alone, to the now-empty house, filled with happy Christmas, Easter, Father's Day, and countless birthday memories, and went to the upstairs bathroom, authentically antique and the place of many fond bubble baths in the clawfoot tub, and threw up everything I'd eaten that day. It was hot up there and I was soaked with sweat and tears when I was done.
That incident was so unbelievable to me - the audacity to do it with family so near drove me to tell my boyfriend that night about it. I told him everything. He was so sweet to just hold me while I cried it out.
I promised him I'd be clean by thanksgiving, 2012.
He helped me start Recovery Record. And I was better by November. But Christmas baking and stress at work drove me back to bingeing, purging, and faking I was fine. I feel so out of control in a lot of areas in my life, but this is something I can control...or so I tell myself every time I eat. I eat not because I'm hungry, but because I want to throw up.
HELP! Please! My fiancé doesn't know I've regressed. I'm way too ashamed to tell him again, but I'm so desperate to be done, so ready to be clean for REAL by July, so I can marry him with no lies between us.
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