As I mentioned, I had become quite proficient in hiding my addiction or so I had thought.
I later found out from my loved ones, that many had been suspicious of my change in behaviour, but bulimia is the last thing they would have ever assumed.
The truth behind the facade, my experience
I had fallen into a daily routine that began with me and my scale. The number being the ultimate influence of my day…
I remember trying on clothes and being satisfied to see them hanging off my body…
I remember looking in the mirror and being relieved that I could see the contours of my rib cage and collar bone…
I remember waiting impatiently for friends and family to leave, as isolation was opportunity to binge to the point of pain, justifying the purge.
Exercise became a need, not a want. Strength was irrelevant. I was controlled by a number on my scale.
I ate to purge. Not to nourish my body and soul. Purging was a release to breathe.
Each lie I told myself, each element of this facade added to the dark veil that overcame me in moments of stress and self doubt.
I couldn’t stop.
My facade had become my REALITY
The shrinking number which was once so satisfying lost its power. I could always be smaller.
Up to this point in my journey, the veil of darkness was constant. I was fully submersed in my ‘created reality’. I was alive, but not living. Filtering through the motions and emotions of every day, but each action no matter how far “off topic” it may have appeared, linked back to that veil, feeding its grip.
The turning point…
Every time I purged I was flooded with a mix of emotion. I felt ashamed, but I felt relief.
My ritual was set in stone. The veil of darkness would cloud in. I’d binge to the point of pain. Purge to feel relief. Feel ashamed. Binge to distract from the shame.
The Cycle Continued. Daily. Hourly.
My rational side was very cognizant of the impact of my actions. I had googled bulimia several times, well aware of the side effects and potential risks. I think I was hoping the reality of the risks would shift my behaviour, but rationalizing wasn’t enough.
I had tried several times to stop. Lasting 2,maybe 5 days, before the cycle began again.
My emotional side was in a downward spiral, the more weight I lost, the more I felt hopeful that I would reach a weight I would be happy with.
I was in denial
I would never be happy dropping weight. My insecurities, and self doubt were deeper rooted than my surface appearance.
I remember returning home one day and eating a granola bar.
My body wasn’t used to food being in its system without also being removed. And although I ate the granola bar with no intention of purging.
I couldn’t keep the granola bar down.
It was in this moment I realized I was in too deep.
I couldn’t do this on my own. I needed help.