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just want to cry

by triste
(western u.s.)

I told my best friend about it almost a year ago but kept at it secretly

Stopped about four months ago but have done it a few times since

Late other night I binged without meaning to, was just hungry and got that urge to stuff myself as I hadn't recently. Halfway through I remembered I could purge and it felt like winning a thousand dollars, especially since I hadn't done it in about a month and felt it was less destructive.
I go home (live with parents) minutes later and induce vomiting with my fingers, let it sit in toilet for a bit while I cleaned myself up and showered
I flush the toilet - clogged
I panic and start plunging it to hell. after 30 minutes, it finally flushes
there is still food lining the bowl, I clean it up with toilet paper but realize Ii cannot leave it in the toilet and the trash can is outside, clean but not brought back in
I wipe it off and carried that nasty wad with me and throw it away in my room.

My room. It hits me full-speed that after years of this lifestyle, touching inside of the toilet bowl and carrying objects that have touched nasty toilet water are a mere annoyance but commonplace. to where taking these objects into my room is less of a thing than letting someone for once see the truth about me.

I wonder when I became such a toilet creature, if my secret hygiene(less) habits have ever caused me illness.

But the guilt is transitory and I am of course exhausted so I sleep.

Next morning - dad is plunging toilet in their bathroom. whole system is clogged.

Again I panic, thinking my secret has disclosed itself. Thinking the family will find out from a third party. Thinking they will all say "I am not surprised to learn this, she is very insecure, put on a bit of weight in last four months, this explains so much why she is such a screwedup girl and can't make good changes in her life"

I imagined the plumbers running into a large wad of candy, chips, congealed peanut butter, cookies, cheese, refined grain everything
yet I was almost relieved, I imagined my parents finding out and being very sad and crying but then helping me seek treatment for myriad issues and then I could pay them back monthly for messing up the plumbing.

But it didn't happen. the problem wasn't me. I was shocked, I've been vomiting into that toilet for three years now. I know very little about plumbing so my paranoia made good sense for those several hours.

and toward the end of those several hours, I could see the light.

Yet now I've lost my nerve. i want to clean up my act all by myself and tell them later but I'm afraid I'll relapse between now and then or have a fucking heart attack for that matter.

so sick of taking fake baths
toilet water splashing in my eye
and guzzling faucet water from my hand just to loosen up the remaining half-cup which I feel compelled to get rid of.

I hate the self-punishment cycle of it
when I vomit I finally allow myself to feel all the hopelessness and self-disgust:
this is why everyone hates you. This is why you're stuck in this stupid cycle. Look at you, wasting $xx on food tonight and tossing it like there's an infinite food or money supply. Needing to feel beautiful and tiny, wanting people to notice my dwindled shape as if there's beauty in victimhood and loss of control, and needing those compliments and acknowledgments and flirtations like a parasite. Killing my body to make it more beautiful. You will die ugly. and in case you haven't made the connection, this is why xxxxx will never love you. He saw through you. He saw the diseased interior, he saw that you are ugly in the place where even physically ugly people can still be beautiful. Conceited, fixated on the transient, obsessed with finding that next compliment, and that is all you have in you. This is why you will never have a better life, you will never be able to hack it without some kind of obsession/compulsion combo to spur you on, since genuine achievement is beyond you.

Yet outside that self-flagellation, I do not believe any of that about bulimia sufferers. Not even myself. It isn't until I'm full to bursting and alone with a toilet that my self-hatred roars into my brain, even more automatically than my gag reflex. And I think it about only myself.

Sometimes I see myself in the mirror and wonder why I hate myself so much. Someday if i'm not dead before then I will be old and will have wasted all my youth on killing myself. I will look in the mirror and realize there is no going back. that I killed my time while others helped people, helped themselves, helped the earth. I wasted while others created. They achieved and I squandered. some run out of time too soon; I don't feel I deserve the time I was given.

I need help.

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Article by Shaye Boddington
Author of
and creator of The Bulimia Recovery Program and Community

The Bulimia Recovery Program