An Eating Disorder; A History of Mine

I’ve read in books before about therapists making anorexics/bulimics write history of their eating disorder. It’s never occurred to me that I could do the same, on my own. To be honest, I never thought I could put it down in words. Until now.1

I’d have to say that it all first began in 7th grade. (Or, as I call it, The First Bad Year.) That’s when depression first really got its hold on me. That’s the year I first began cutting, starving myself, and throwing up.2

I have to admit, even though I’d always had body image issues, it was my love of reading that got me into trouble. I read the books “Wasted” and “The Best Little Girl in the World” and they opened up a whole new, dark world for me.3

I envied the girls in those books. I wanted to be them. I wanted to be so thin you could count my ribs. I wanted to be able to wear a bikini like all the other girls in my grade.4

And the sad thing about anorexia and bulimia is that they work.5

So, I began starving myself and throwing up whenever I did eat something. I can remember playing in a basketball game, and after a few runs down the court, feeling my throat burn because I’d been sticking my finger down it. Want to know the crazy part? I was proud of that burn, of myself. For once, I had something that none of the other girls on my team had. An eating disorder.6

In the first year, I was much more of an anorexic than a bulimic. I had the self-control to stop myself from eating and go days with only taking in the barest amounts. And as for the cutting, the one word I carved into my skin over and over again? T-H-I-N. Thin.7

The results were worth it. I came back 8th grade year and it was, “Wow, Crystal, you’ve gotten So Thin,” “You Look Great,” etc. Hell, even our school librarian (who was mean to almost everyone, except me because I was an avid-library-visitor) noticed my new body. After school one day, while she was unlocking the fitness lab for a friend and I, she commented, “You’ve gotten Quite Thin, haven’t you?”8

People in our family, who were naturally thin, complimented me, even friends of the family, too. Which is why, in 8th grade, I kind of backed off a little. Sure, I still ate less than a “normal” person, but I was eating a lot more than what had been “normal” for me for about a year.9

I’m not quite sure when I started back up again. Probably the summer after 8th grade. That’s when I became a bulimic. I found that I didn’t have the same intensity as I had before. I’d lost a lot of the self-control to stop myself from bingeing and I was upset, but, nonetheless, I could at least throw up the food I ate to compensate for my lack of self-control.10

I became so good at self-induced vomiting that it got to a point where I could throw up without even having to stick my finger down my throat. There was, however, a disadvantage to puking 5-6 times a day in our toilet.11

It clogged the pipes. When my mom asked me about it, we both agreed it was probably due to the amount of hair that came out if my head when showering that clogged up the drain. (And the huge hairball that she pulled out of the shower drain just reinforced my story.)12

So, even though we then had Drain-O stocked in our cupboards (which I used secretly when I thought the toilet was getting a little slow at swallowing my food) I had to think of different places to do my dirty work. Thank God I lived on a farm, right?13

I’d sneak out back to a grassy meadow to puke up pizza, Mac & Cheese behind our garage, or I’d eat before going down to do calf chores and then throw up behind our barn.14

A vivid memory of this, is Ramen Noodles. I’ll probably never forget it as long as I live. See, I thought throwing up noodles would be a piece of cake, wrong. I’m not sure how everyone else in the world eats Ramen Noodles, but I pretty much slurp them down whole. Which means that they come up whole. So, here I was, behind our barn, almost choking to death as I regurgitated long, thick fistfuls of Ramen Noodles. Not one of the proudest moments of my life.15

This leads into freshman year where, yet again, I backed off the bingeing and purging. But, as always, I started up again. I can remember my two best friends waiting for me as I “went to the bathroom.” (I was actually just puking up the junk food I’d consumed at our school’s football game, unbeknownst to them.) 16

And, by pure coincidence, one of them happened to be telling the other that I HAD been bulimic. (Unbeknownst to me.)17

Of course, when I found out, I was absolutely livid. The fact that you have (or “had”) an eating disorder is not something you’d like to have spread around.18

When I confronted her about it, she said she was just concerned because I was only eating Half-A-Sandwich at lunch and she just wanted to make sure I was Okay. I politely told her that the next time she wanted attention, she could tell her own damn secrets to everyone.19

Eventually, though, I forgave her (as I always did when this cycle repeated itself in the future) and even though I still ate my half a sandwich, I dressed myself in layers of clothing and cheerful smiles.20

Despite this, my first year of high school was a relatively good one and I had wonderful friends and hilarious inside jokes and, for the first time, a lot of confidence. I felt like I’d finally found a place where I belonged. And so, once again, the eating disorder subsided..21

Until That Summer. My whole family had gathered at our annual camping trip and I felt confident enough to bring along my two-piece swimming suit. It was perfect, I thought. Because the top half came down just above my waist, enough to cover my horrendous stomach and I could still claim that I wore a two-piece bathing suit. Slight insecurities still plagued me, but it was just family camping. Who was going to point out that I looked a little pudgy in my swimming suit? I mean, we all did.22

However, Tanner X was not family. His mom was a friend of one of my older cousins and he was merely invited for the boys to hang out with.23

Well, I cannot remember what I said or did to him, but after the kid cousins had finished tubing and were hanging out down by the landing area, he started calling me fat. Fat. Fat. Fat. Fat. he teased me. My cousin Josh, always the short-tempered and severe defender of our family, was in no time grabbing handfuls of rocks and pelting Tanner X with them. Who, by that time, ran into the water for shelter.24

Well, a big, fat, fucking thanks to him for reviving a nearly dormant disease. THANK YOU.25

So, during my sophomore year I was active again. Actively throwing up whenever I could, that is. Once again, rumors sparked up amongst my friends and all it took was one serious, lying-through-my teeth conversation with one of them to put the rumors to rest.26

That’s also when the cutting became more serious too. Up until that point, it was only off and on, hardly worth mentioning. But sophomore year was a bad, bad year. Full of betrayal, drama, backstabbing, hurt, anger, pain, drama, secrets, and oh, did I mention the drama? It’s a wonder I survived, between all that and the cutting, the bulimia, the drinking, the pills, and the cigarettes.27

But I did. And that’s kind of where I’m at right now. At the end of the year, I got busted for trying to slit my wrists. (“That cut is vertical. You see that vein right there? You could have hit that.”)28

No, really?29

I’d like to say that I’ve learned from all this, that I’m a recovered-bulimic, recovered-everything. But I’m not. I still go through bouts of bingeing and purging. (Even throwing up in porta-potties.) I still relapse and destroy myself once in awhile.30

However, as I’m getting ready to enter my junior year, I’m also coming to the realization that I can’t do this to myself forever. Eventually, I’ll be 18 and on my own and I won’t be able to afford food, just to throw it back up again. Eventually, I’ll have to take care of myself. Eventually.31

Anyway, there you have it. A history of an eating disorder, mine. Has it helped me to write it all down, get it all out? Well, we’ll just have to see, now won’t we? 32