it takes a lot of courage to show your dreams to someone else.

Here is my first bulimia post for the blog site (Substance for You) that asked me to write. I'm pretty confident that it's good, but I'm still nervous that he won't like it. So let me know what you think! It's long so sorry for the timely read. The next one will be coming soon. 



Childhood is supposed to be a time for bike rides, camping trips, school work, friends, birthday parties and happy memories. For most, this is the case. Many people can look back on their childhood and smile as they remember the carefree playing that only children do. For many though, childhood memories are tinged with sadness, anxiety, and painful memories. My personal childhood memories consist of arguments, my mother's relapses, pressure to do well, bullying and criticism. Children are not supposed to feel shame if they aren't a perfect in every way. They are not supposed to feel like they aren't good enough simply because of their weight or appearance. The sad truth is, I, along with many other children, felt exactly this way.

Unfortunately, our society is one that encourages thinness, beauty, and physical attractiveness over tons of other valuable qualities. To many women (and men), dieting to achieve that 'perfect' goal weight is more important than being healthy role models for their children. In fact, dieting is promoted so much that the majority of girls and women are on a diet numerous times during their lifespan. According to the National Eating Disorder Information Center (NEDIC), more than half of young girls (1/3 of boys) engage in unhealthy eating behaviors ranging from fasting and purging, to laxative/diuretic use. NEDIC also states that approximately 1.5% of teenage girls go on to develop a severe eating disorder. So in a society surrounded by beauty campaigns, emaciated models, and diet ads, I don't think the question should be 'How do girls/boys develop eating disorders?' but should be 'How do girls/boys not develop eating disorders?'

Being someone who has struggled with bulimia nervosa for nine years (about half of my life), I can't tell you how to prevent an eating disorder. But I can tell you some of the reasons I personally believe led to my eating disorder so long ago. Like so many things do, I truly believe it started in my early childhood years.

 One of the most common memories I had of my parents were the obsessive, extreme diets they would both try in order to lose weight. My family was either stuffing their faces or barely eating at all. So from the very beginning, I never had healthy eating role models. This led to my childhood obesity. By the time I was in grade eight I weighed over 250 pounds. My parents would voice their concern about my weight to me very often. I know now that they were concerned about my health, as well as the risk of me being bullied. They were right, but at the time these comments always just made me feel ashamed of myself. I started comparing my huge body to the tiny frames of my friends. Finally, the summer before high-school, I decided I would lose weight. I wanted, no, needed, to be skinny for grade nine. So I did all that I knew to do-diet. I basically starved myself for a year and overexercised until I reached my goal weight, losing over 100 pounds. But somewhere along the line, my goal weight became smaller and smaller. No matter what weight I reached, I still saw that 250 pound girl staring back at me in the mirror.

The first time I purged was before going to the gym to see my personal trainer. I was 14. She did weekly weigh ins and I lived for the praise she would give me when I lost huge amounts of weight. But before I went, I slipped up badly. I had been starving myself for so long that sometimes I would break and just completely lose control. I would binge to the point of extreme fullness. After doing this, I suddenly felt guilt and fear. I knew the number on the scale would go up. I could not let her see that I had been so 'weak'. So I did what I thought would be a one time, harmless act. I threw it all up, cleaned up and went to see her. I don't remember what the scale said that day, but I do know that purging became an everyday thing. At it's worst, I would purge 4-5 times per day at least.

My bulimia quickly crept into my head and took up permanent residence in my mind. As I've struggled with this mental illness, it has become clear to me that the symptoms have little to do with the actual weight or food. They're simply symptoms that are an indication of severe core issues with self-esteem and mental health. At 18 I was diagnosed with depression, social anxiety and generalized anxiety disorder, but I had felt that way as long as I can remember. These feelings of extreme anxiety over everything and anything, especially social situations had a huge impact on the way my weight made me feel. No matter who I was with, I was always self-conscious, comparing myself to others in every way possible. As my bulimia progressed, all I thought about was whether or not I was smaller than other people. I'd worry everyday that people would stare at my 'fat' body. My depression resulted in feelings of hopelessness, worthlessness and suicidal idealizations. Depression exacerbated my eating disorder by removing what was left of my low self-worth, self-esteem, and hope for a happy life. All of my mental illnesses combined together to make me feel that I was only of any value if I was X number of pounds.

The sad thing is though, your eating disorder is never happy. It doesn't matter how much you lose, bulimia always wants more. It lures its victims in with promises that being thin will make your depression and anxiety go away. It promises happiness, but in reality buries you deeper into the depths of depression. It slowly takes over your mind and before you know it, you're no longer in control. Every action, thought, emotion is eating disorder related. Your mind suddenly revolves around numbers. Numbers on the scale, numbers of calories, numbers of sit-ups. Numbers, numbers, and more numbers swirl through your mind every second. Thoughts of food are all consuming as you go through a cycle of starvation to binging and purging. Your eating disorder tells you that it's okay to steal food, because you've been so good all week, you deserve to have a treat. Until you have it, then your mind is completely overwhelmed with guilt, shame and self-hatred. Or it convinces you that four hours of exercise is fine because, exercise is healthy. And when you can't do it, you feel like a weak, pathetic, failure, which furthers your bond with bulimia and its 'perfection.'

You start to believe that it's your only friend, support, and only sense of strength and control. You start to rely on your eating disorder to get you through the day. It becomes your way to cope with the overwhelming feelings of depression, worthlessness, pain, anger, etc. It helps you cope with the things you can't control as it gives you a false sense of power over your life. The reality is though, that the more you feel in control, the less control you truly have over your eating disorder. Every single aspect of your life becomes a false sense of reality. An illusion. You can no longer trust the image in the mirror, the food labels, the scales. You can't trust anything but your bulimia. Any attempt at help from others is now viewed as an attack on your eating disorder. This is when your mindset allows lies and manipulation into the list of things that are morally acceptable. You need your eating disorder so badly that you'd do and say anything to protect it. However, you'd also do anything to prevent any protection for yourself. You feel worthless while you think your eating disorder is worth any amount of manipulation, arguing, sneaking, etc. You feel your eating disorder is worth your life.

My bulimia, I believe, is a result of both genetic and environmental factors. I was prone to mental illness and then the lack of  healthy role models, the constant arguing of my parents, my mother's alcoholism, and the pressure to be perfect in every way led to the feelings of depression and anxiety. I never felt good enough. I ended up turning to food as a way to deal with the anxiety of my unstable external life. This binge eating as a child led to my obesity, which further worsened my esteem and mental illnesses, which resulted in the diet that started my bulimia. Further praise and pressure to do well maintained my disorder over time. I have now struggled with my eating disorder for nine years. Eating disordered individuals are prone to a high risk of co-morbidity with other mental illnesses. It's unsure whether or not they came first or were the result of an eating disorder. For me, some of my mental illnesses were the underlying core issues.  However, my addiction to opiates came afterwards and only added fuel to the fire. I now had two unhealthy ways to cope with the traumas in my life. My addiction also helped me to curb my appetite, further exacerbating my bulimia.

It wasn't until I got sober in August 2014 that I realized that I needed to do something about my bulimia or I would risk relapsing, or worse, dying from my disease. Eating disorders have the highest mortality rate of any other mental illness. Hearing that fact resulted in a huge wake up call. I am now in outpatient treatment with a local organization called the Bulimia Anorexia Nervosa Association (BANA). I would love to tell you that now my life is great and that I am free from the vice like grip of bulimia. But that would be a lie. Eating disorders, like addiction, are life long illnesses that you can never cure. They both will be with me for the rest of my life. Unlike addiction, however, abstinence from food is not an option. Everyone has to eat, so the struggle in recovery is learning to have a healthy relationship with food. Individuals in recovery must learn to eat in a healthy moderation. We must learn to accept our bodies the way they are and to learn better coping skills for all our emotions. We can no longer numb or hide from emotions like we had in the past.

My recovery will be a long, uphill road. But I am optimistic. I was strong enough to overcome addiction, traumatic relationships, death, and hardship, so I am confident in my ability to beat this too. It won't be easy, but hopefully one day I will be able to say that it was completely worth it.

 Thank you for taking the time to read my story and some of the things that led to my bulimia. If you or someone you know is struggling with an eating disorder, I urge you to get the help you need before it's too late.

i'm standing on a line between giving up and seeing how much more she can take.

I know I'm supposed to be recording all my food/liquid intake. But I just can't bring myself to do it.

I can't bring myself to eat either. I ate too much this week already. I'll be happy if I stay below 500 calories to make up for the last few days.

I know this isn't productive and that I'm supposed to be making changes. I just am so afraid. I don't want to get fat.

I guess I'll go start on my homework for next group. Maybe it'll jog me back into optimism and reality. I hope so, I can't do this much longer.


P.S. I could really go for some dope. Any kind of dope. Meth, crack, pills, junk. Just something to make me forget that I'm so fucked up and too afraid to do anything about it.

i wouldn't recommend sex, drugs or insanity for everyone, but they've always worked for me.

Guess what?
I went to bed fucked up.
I woke up in the middle of the night, and got more fucked up.
I went back to bed and passed out, cause I was too fucked up.
I woke up this morning, rolled out of bed and realized, I was still fucked up.

And honestly, I don't give a fuck.

In fact, as soon as I'm done this, I'll go get fucked up, then I'll get fucked, and then I'll do it all over again.

Oh yeah, I haven't eaten in like two days, and it feels so good, I almost don't even need to get fucked up.

But I will anyways.

 I feel like the modern Marylin. And that feels great.

P.S. Yeah this is crude, get over it.

i tell myself it's all in my head, but i'm pretty hard to convince.

The problem with taking psychology as you major, is you realize how fucked up you really are.

 It's bad enough I'm bulimic with a capital b, but did depression, anxiety, and borderline personality disorder have to get thrown into the mix too? And now, I have a voice in my head, who takes over my body sometimes, in the form of a girl named Jenna . Well most of the time really. Is that split personality? Or schizo? Both? I mean, she even has a name. I'm so screwed.

The last thing I need is a drug addiction on top of all that. And I'm not talking minor leaugues here. My habits are bad enough, I don't think my mind could possibly handle it. But then again, don't I sort of have two minds? They could share the burden of one more issue. Right?

This is what Jenna is telling me to convince me to do it.
It'll make you forget all you're problems, you'll feel great without my help for once.
"I don't know, Jenna. Don't I have enough to deal with already?"
How could you doubt me after everything I've done for you. You'd be fat without me.
"I know, but this isn't a good..."
She interrupts me now, screaming.
Listen to me! I'm never wrong, you know that! You won't feel the pain anymore. Won't miss your dad. Won't hate yourself. Won't think about how everything around you is falling apart. And did I mention you won't be hungry any more?

She had me and she knew it. So I said,

"Okay, I guess trust you."

But she was wrong, and I'm foolish for ever listening to a voice inside my head. I tried to tell myself this before it started, but I'm (she's) pretty hard to convince.

illusion is needed to disguise the emptiness within.

I'm so empty inside, I'm practically a bottomless pit, nothing will ever fill me up. Nothing will ever fill the void.
You know how people drop things into wells, and listen for the splash that signifies where it ends, how deep it is? I tried to do this to myself. Eating anything and everything, just trying to see how much it would take to fill me up. It didn't take me long to realize that although my belly might be full, the rest of me is still completely empty.
But I guess it's better to be one kind of full, than both kinds of empty.
Eating until I was stuffed was my illusion of fullness. Happiness. Being so full of food disguised the feeling of emptiness, long enough to keep me somewhat sane. Although, sane isn't exactly the best description of me. It made me feel slighty better.
Until Jenna got her way and made me throw it all up. Leaving me even more empty than before. I purged out the food, but any ounce of happiness, sanity, esteem, anything, came up with it. And over time, I'm realized that if I thought I was a bottomless pit, than what am I now? How is it possible to dig a bottomless pit even deeper, filling it with nothing more than more emptiness?

And worse? How will I ever be able to fill it all up? Will I always be empty? Will anything ever get better? Or will my soul always be nothing more, than a black hole?

warning – reflections in this mirror may be distorted by socially constructed ideas of beauty.

Today, like all other days, I spent a good 90% of my dad staring at my reflection. To an outsider I may seem completely self-absorbed and in love with myself. Self absorbed? Of course. In love with myself? You couldn't be more wrong.
Looking at myself is very much a love-hate relationship. I hate what I see when I see my reflection staring back at me, but for some reason I cannot look away. Am too afraid to look away. As if I'll gain 50 pounds in an instant if I take my eyes away from myself. As if Jenna is keeping an eye on me to monitor what I'm doing, criticizing, picking apart, and prodding at every single flaw she sees (and trust me, she sees alot that she wants to fix).

I'll use almost everything with even a tiny bit of reflective surface to analyze myself, to hear what Jenna has to say ("ew", "you're huge", "suck it in"). Mirrors, windows, stainless steel fridges, car doors (not recommended for those who suffer from an ED, it's like a fat mirror in a [not so] fun house-although the thin mirrors are quite pleasant). Everything.

You see, this is extremely hard to deal with. It's almost impossible to go places without my reflection staring back at me. And Jenna, as much as she loves to tear me apart, can't stand this fact. It's like she has occupied my body, but it's still me she sees stuck in the mirror, and she hates me. Thinks I'm weak, thinks I'm pathetic, thinks I'm disgustingly fat. And I guess the more someone tells you these things, the more you believe it's true. So now, instead of seeing what I think Ryan sees, or what my mom sees or whoever else sees, I see what Jenna sees. I see a blob of fat that keeps growing and growing, no matter how much I starve, no matter how much I purge, no matter how hard I try. And it's not just my fat body anymore, I hate my skin, I hate my hair, I hate my fake beautiful smile. I hate everything about myself.

So why does Jenna hate what she sees? Is her mind just distorted, like she's constantly looking into the [not so] funhouse fat mirror? Or is it that she's comparing me to all the people she sees in society. To the people she thinks Ryan thinks are beautiful.

I guess I'll never know the answer to this, but what I do know is that I wish she would just stop judging me so harshly. Stop comparing me to Megan Fox and all these unnaturally skinny toothpicks we're all supposed to think are amazing. These skinny girls who are airbrushed and photoshopped have issues just like me. So why the fuck do we look up to these bitches? I hope nobody's looking up to me.
I mean, what happened to girls like Marylin Monroe, who were a healthy, normal, gorgeous weight?
And furthermore, what happened to beauty being in the eye of the beholder? Why must we all see skinny as beautiful. Why can't we just BE?

I guess I'll never know that either, but I'm sure as hell going to try to just be me. Too bad if you don't like it. And to Jenna, if you don't like it, get the fuck out. It's my body, and I don't want you here anymore.