There is a Light at the End of the Tunnel
As long as I can remember, I've always tried to earn acceptance. It began as early as first grade. My dad was verbally abusive and my mom bipolar. Life at home was rough. When I was in fourth grade, I moved to yet another new town (after my dad lost his job because he was extremely sick). During that year, my sister starved herself. It was during that year that I convinced myself I would never have an eating disorder. It was also during that year that I began to become obsessed with weight. My view of food was never the same. Time passed. Neither of my parents got a job, but miraculously we still had a house to live in, but life was rough. My mom tried to commit suicide, and my dad never left the house except to buy food to feed his obese body. Simply put, the summer before eight grade I starved myself, but did not stop eating. I thought No one knew. By December of that year, eating always meant extreme guilt. In January, my dad died of a sudden heart attack. My whole life fell apart. My mom turned to alcohol. I felt that I was alone. I did not want to feel the pain, and I was experiencing problems from undiagnosed celiac disease (gluten intolerance). I turned to bulimia. I did not even realize what I was doing.
Eventually, a girl took my sister and I to youth group. There I found christ, yet I still would not admit to my problem. My mom was becoming increasingly neglectful as she fell deeper and deeper into alcoholism. Spring and summer passed, and in fall of my freshman year of high school, DCFS took my sister and I out of our home. We lived in other people's homes for a year. This past summer, I finally have been able to admit my problem to myself, and I want dearly to come out of this bondage and live life to the fullest. I'm taking small steps toward recovery and I know that some day, I will be free of this.
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