When I think back to those days, I think of my oldest son who just turned twelve. I was about that age when I realized that I needed to lose weight. So I decided I would not eat breakfast. That was easy enough. My parents were already busy with their days and so it was easy to pull that off. But lunch was a different story. I loved these tiny personal pan cheese pizzas that you could buy from the Swans man. So every day I would eat half of a cheese pizza and just half of what my mom would make for dinner. After a few days though my parents would not leave me alone with my "special" diet and wanted me to eat more. This coming from my mother who would eat cheese and chips, and would drink regular Coke or Pepsi all day long. She also smoked. Which was a very unfair advantage! After a few months of trying to cut back and not being able to enjoy family get togethers - where everyone ate enormous amounts of food and still looked great, I started eating! Then one magical (sarcastic) afternoon I was introduced to bulimia through an after school special. Yes, a show designed to help keep teens from these eating disorders actually helped me see the potential of binging and purging.
I was on top of the world - kind of. I was losing weight! My parents no longer were on my back about "eating more." And, people liked me. Now, as I have grown older and wiser, I realize that they liked me because my new slender self had more confidence. I no longer was a wall flower. Not extremely out going, but I wasn't hiding like I had before. I thought I had hit the jack pot! I could eat with my friends and be skinny! Thanksgiving dinner with the whole family, no problem. But as days turned in to weeks, and weeks into months, I began to feel desperate. By desperate I mean I needed to know where and when my next meal would be. When can I eat?! And. . . where and when can I throw up.
My life changed from not knowing what real love was and wanting it, to feeling nothing at all.
The days of my high school years flew by. I really don't have very many memories. I had turned away from most people. And those who I trusted in my world walked a very fine line. If their attention was directed to any one else, I felt like that kid who was fine on the weekends when no one was around but easily thrown away when someone better came along. My friends were great friends, although we never talked about what was going with my weight and mood swings. They knew. They were young and did not know how to help, but they could love me. Even when I shut them out.
My junior and senior years were when things got to be at their worst. I would steal candy bars at lunch and save them for the last couple classes of the day. Me, eat lunch. No way. As I had found through trial and error, you have to throw up no more than one and a half hours after you have eaten. So I was a thief. And after school instead of socializing, I rushed home usually to eat more and then purge. I would do my homework and eat dinner with the family like a good girl. Then I would sneak candy and cookies into my room and devour them. I was doing my homework, don't ya know. What a joke. Then off to take a shower I would go. So on top of things, I was. And then. . . . I would purge. After my throw up started to turn yellow, I knew that I had gotten rid of all the evil I had consumed. And then I would make my way to the shower, weak and light headed, and I would stand under the water and hope for a miracle. There were nights when I was so week I would pull myself along the furniture to the kitchen and drink a cup of orange juice. But only one cup! And then pull my body back to my room and lay there in the dark, praying that I would not die that night. And then, because movement burned calories, I would move my feet back and forth on my bed as I drifted off to sleep. There were even nights when I would imagine a long table filled with all my favorite foods and I could eat them all and not gain weight. Pleasant dreams!
My teeth had started to erode. First my top front teeth and then the bottom. I'm amazed that I was not pulled aside by a teacher or somebody and asked if I was okay. They probably did not want to embarrass me.
Fifteen years of my life, down the toilet. I was even bulimic through my first pregnancy.
Fifteen years of hiding, loathing myself, wanting to die. Fifteen years.
But, you know, through all that I saw glimpses of God. Like when you're in a dark room and the door is open a crack so a little stream of light comes in. That's what it was like. He was there. . . waiting for me.
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