Ashamed of Myself, My bulimic story, Ashamed of being Bulimic

Ashamed of Myself

I had never been over-weight. If anything, according to the doctors, I was under-weight. Age 15, 5 feet tall, 108 pounds. I had a different opinion.

It started in the summer. I had thought about it a lot before then, but one night was all it took. I had always been self-conscious, I'm not sure what exactly caused me to do it, maybe it was everything piling up, it's hard to say.

I remember going to the bathroom and turning the fan on, so no one could hear. I picked up my tooth brush and kneeled beside the toilet and took a deep breath in. It was like, my body was waiting for it, like I knew what I was doing all along, the process seemed so simple, so easy, so... escaping.

It started as a once-a-week kind of thing. I wouldn't vomit more than once in these trials. Now, it's at least once a day, depending on where I am, whose around, how much time I have and how I feel. By this I mean, if I'm in a good mood in the morning, for instance, my coffee will join me through the day, if not, it's down the drain.

Now, I am vomiting many, many times a day. I remember what I ate, and do not stop until it's all gone, or my body will physically not let me continue. I cry, every single time.

I have never talked about this to anyone in person. I'm too scared, ashamed, and embarrassed. My friends have asked if there is anything wrong, I ask them what are they talking about. They say I've lost weight, look smaller, and it's scary for someone my size to get any smaller. Inside, I get a little burst, think, it's working. Outside, I act as if they're crazy, and I haven't lost any weight.

It's hard to lie, on a day to day basis. Explaining why I need to turn the fan on, why I'm always doing in the bathroom, why the bottom end of my tooth brush is wet, why my eyes are puffy... whether or not I'm happy. It may seem easy for me to talk about this, but in fact, it's one of the hardest things for me to do.

I'm ashamed of myself and I wish I could stop, but I feel as though this is like a drug, an addiction. It keeps pulling me in, and breaking me down. It's a strange feeling really, I suppose I could compare it to the angel and devil on the shoulder animation.

The devil tells me to continue, it tells me that I need to rid myself of everything I have eaten, that I need to lose weight, and by me eating it only makes me gain it.

The angel comes later and tell me that I'm better than that. The angel causes me to cry, I feel ashamed, and weak. Maybe, if that angel had come a second sooner on that dreadful night, if I had taken one more second to think, I might not be where I am today.

This is still continuing. I pray that I can make it stop, maybe someday I will. Maybe I'll get help for this. I look forward to that day. But for now, I guess my only means of clarity is this. Bulimia, for me, anyway.

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