I've been binging and purging for years and I am currently on a road to recovery. Over the summer, I had been trying my best to hide my tendencies by throwing up in plastic bags and hiding them in the closet until garbage day. At this point I had 8 bags filled with bile and food I couldn't keep down without wanting to harm myself. I was going to put it in the garbage bin after everyone went to bed. It was around 7 O'Clock at night. My mother asked me if I would quick run to the store with her, I agreed. I hid the bags and shut my bedroom and closet door. We got home around 9 O'Clock. The door was open. The house smelled repulsive. My dog had tore apart all 8 bags and eaten their contents. Whatever my dog didn't eat was left stained in the floor. Nobody knew what it was, and I couldn't tell them it was vomit. My vomit. My dog ate my puke. I had never felt more guilty for my habits. I felt terrible. I cleaned it and tried to pretend it never happened. The event helped me begin my journey to recovery.
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