Battling the brute Bulimia

This might be a post I later remove...

I don't remember being a deceitful child. I recall being bossy, conscientious and serious from an early age, a goody goody, a teacher's pet, a worrier, obsessive and even depressive but not a liar. Lies scared me.

Then there was a change. To say I have become a liar would be over-simplistic as really there's only one thing I lie about and the person it affects most is me.

Eating disorders have a tendency to bring out one's worst self (especially Bulimia which is creates a real Jekyll and Hyde scenario). One can become the most horrendous liar and cheat. Secrets are kept, food hidden, lies are told to cover bigger lies, excuses are made and stories told about what you did or didn't do behind closed doors. A minefield of mind games


It's as if life becomes some sort of game you're playing against the rest of the world, the aim being to defy nature and trick everyone who loves you in to thinking you're 'normal' and fine. The saddest thing about it, aside from the obvious obstacles it places between you and those you love, is the fact that ultimately you are only really cheating yourself. It is you who will lose in the end.

I have thought of my future, possibly a lonely time when I find myself without a partner, without children, void of hope, aspirations, a career, health etc. and only because I have failed to enjoy being the person I am in the skin I'm in.

Unfortunately like any addiction, bulimia is a bastard to quit. Who ever said the hardest part is admitting there's problem seems to have a very limited understanding of such things. I've known I've had a problem since the day it started. It's a revolting, ridiculous, wasteful, expensive, exhausting, unnecessary, disgusting habit which scares me senseless. I know why it developed, what it's doing to me physically and emotionally, and what my loved ones think of it, plus there isn't much in the way of treatment haven't tried. Somehow though, none of this has ever been enough to make me stop.

Perhaps because I don't know what to do without it, how to let it go and eat normally. Perhaps because I enjoy it: dare I say my hedonism.

I know it's killing my love of life, my love life and my body and holding me back from doing the things I want to do in work and socially and when I describe it to people, the process, the reasoning, it does indeed sound ridiculous. It would make me very sad and angry to know a friend was courting the same demons. But it remains my emotional crutch, safe bet, security blanket, drug, buffer for bad news, a distraction from pain, thoughts, fear, it empties my head of thoughts and makes me feel invincible at the same time. It's been with me while boyfriends have come and gone. So in a sense absurd though it is, I have had some reason to allow it to persist. It doesn't seem matter how many times people tell you you could die, how it pains them to know the struggle and even how they've had enough of it and will leave you if you don't stop.

It's true that although I am dramatically better than I once was, I still don't treat anyone as badly as I treat myself. I may look fine on the outside but this is another lie. I wish I could look in the mirror and say 'I'm fabulous' and mean it and want others to think it too. I wonder how many women do.

Which brings me on to the subject of love. It has often been said that you can't really love others until you love yourself. I still wrestle with that notion, perhaps because I have yet to identify much self love. Perhaps it is true. Perhaps not. It's certainly hard to believe someone can love you if you don't love yourself and that doubt alone plants a seed of insecurity and even neurosis in a relationship.

So when people ask me why I'm going away, sure it's to be with my dad and to see the world and to hopefully open my mind to new cultures and do some fun things etc. but it's also to break this deadly chain. I'm not kidding myself that I will miraculously morph in to something I'm not, or leave my eating disorder head behind but I have tried nearly everything else, bar hypnosis, and I have to do something pretty drastic. Going away with Ric will mean my routines will change completely. This is a terrifying prospect but also something I can hardly wait for.

Sometimes I see myself in a new light. I see a vulnerable human, just like everyone else. This morning I caught a glimpse of the backs of my knees, a place I never really see. The sight of this patch of soft pale skin made me sad. An eating disorder tricks you in to thinking you're somehow subhuman as if you can con nature and beat yourself up ad infinatum; there always being a 'tomorrow' for things to change.