The Beans Have Been SpilledI was 11 when I really started to loath myself, 5'0" in height and weighing 135 pounds. I started drinking alcohol and forcing myself to vomit after meals when I was 13. I would leave my house for several days and get drunk with my two best friends and barely ingest anything but alcohol. Then I'd go home to my alcoholic and bulimic mother and I would binge on hot dogs and cookies (I guess it's true when they say we all grow up to be like our mothers and fathers. Ha-ha). I began seeing a psychiatrist when I was 14 and after a year and a half of anti-depressants, I decided I hated the woman who was feeding me drugs, and so I made the decision to stop seeing her. I went from being a chronic drug user, to being a anti-pill hippie pot smoker. I was 5'2" and weighed 100 lbs.
Although I'm aware of all the risks, the only concerned I have are about are my teeth falling out. My teeth are starting to decay and chip and it hurts to eat. Physically and emotionally, it hurts to keep eating. I can smell my father cooking barbeque ribs in the kitchen right now, and I already know how disgustingly delicious it's going to be eating them, and that I'll take a shower after and throw everything up. Then vow to an all liquid diet, which I had successfully pulled off back before I quit smoking. At that time I could barely touch food to my lips without feeling like throwing up. Now instead of nicotine cravings, all I can think of is the next time I will inhale a bag of chips.
Today I weigh 119 pounds. Today is the first time I've spoken to anyone about my bulimia (besides my crazy ex-psychiatrist). I know I am not ready to put this to an end, the emptiness has not yet been filled. Six years of destruction and perhaps I have only made it to step one.