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Reality: Bulimia…II

“I wake up everyday filled with hope, with none of yesterday’s sorrows attached to me.” I say out loud as we were driving to a place, about seven years ago.

“I wish I could be that way.” My brother replies.

Me too brother, me too.

I was ten years old, I was crying in bed… depressed. My siblings came in, “What’s wrong?” they asked.

I did not reply, I loved the warmth of them being there.

“People won’t always come running after you when something is wrong, one day no one is going to be there.” My brother said, before exiting the room.

That was so true… and if there was a chance that someone may come asking me what is wrong ever again, my eating disorder diminished that chance.

This is reality, it is not pretty, it may be triggering.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

People often think that eating disorders might do damage to our health, to our organs, maybe have us dependent on a machine forever; nonetheless our families would still love us all the same… right?

In my case, my eating disorder did not start my isolation. I was already depressed, in bed all the time with the door locked and headphones on. I was only 10 or 11 then, I still ate with my family and talked though, and as I write this I feel the tears roll as I remember the love I would never feel again.

In my case, my eating disorder started as orthorexia disguising in the diet my family had me put on, time spent eating lunch slowly blurred into working out in my room, then slowly into purging whatever I ate after doing so.

My sister would visit, she would then force me to eat, and with my brother they tried to talk me into eating, then scolded me into it, then gave up.

No, they did not stop trying, but it stopped being because they loved me and turned into just doing what they think is best. That produced hurt on both sides.

“No one would marry a woman with scars, you know.” My sister said.

“You don’t look pretty this thin, you know.” She continued.

The time I spent in my room increased. My brother and other sister would eat and talk and laugh, but because anywhere out of the room was a step closer to the kitchen, I remained in bed… crying.

Now I see the consequences, my brother is close to my sister, sure he tries to help me, but I will never be welcomed with the same love again, it is too late.

Every family gathering would end up with me and my head above the toilet seat, my eldest sister still believes that I was wasting food, throwing away not only the food, but the effort of everyone that worked to get me that food, along with my life away.

Now I see her and my other sister talk on the phone and bond over “girly” stuff, as I stay with her kids because at least they are willing to talk with me with no barriers, because at least with them, I do not have to question whether they want to trick me into saying something I am not comfortable with.

Regret and guilt, that is what you are left with, I could write a book about the physical side effects, but those heal with time and food. Relationships do not.

You will always be left with the dent in your history, which everyone else would have filled with bonding memories.

I will always be left with that heart-squeezing painful feeling every time I remember I could have made more memories, because now I do not get to have all that much time with my brother, and I cannot be myself around my own family.

Sure I was mistreated, I was told off against my own family… by family, but that does not mean that an eating disorder allows you to have your own personality.

Truth is what started with a few hours in my room, refusing to eat, turned into days upon days of locking myself in my room as I ate, then cooked and ate, then purged, 10, 15, sometimes 20 times in a day. Waking up was the worst time of the day because of what I knew I would not be able to fight, and going to sleep was the hardest because of I knew I had done.

What threw me to such a dire place, you ask? Regret and guilt, memories of what could have been, and what betrayals I have been given on a silver plate. You see, anorexia gave me the isolation and bad attitude I needed to get everyone to hate my company, and even when the chance of bonding came, the voice to shut it down. A that point it was time for bulimia, to review how people mistreated me and how I mistreated them and and betrayal that came rushing back from years ago, just to evaluate how much misery I can be put into.

I remember hating my sister coming over because I could not binge and purge, I would stay in my room and cry and scream because the minute I let the fork down the thoughts would float into violence.

I did not accept my niece at the beginning, I felt as if she stole my sister and her love from me. Sure, now I love her to the moon and back, but those first years will never come back.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —


“You are too messed up for me to be your friend.” the words I received written to me by the one I thought was my best friend.

Truth is, no one stays through your misery if you allow them to leave.

Some may think a thin body might bring them confidence and a happy life, well, take a look at my life:

6 unknown years

the start of a depression

self harm

eating disorder


weeks of not bathing and scolding after scolding of how I am wasting my life.

Lots of anger

rotten teeth

0 self esteem

nope, not even thin anymore.

Take a look at one of the people I watched:

Family hatred

Lost custody of her children


no work



this one I do not know much about except for this: she is in her twenties, but her organs have failed and have to be stuck to tubes and machines if she were to live.

This is not fun. This is not pretty. This is not a joke.

Save yourself, ask for help, it is never too late, but you still have to take the first step as no one is going to take it for you.




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I am a writer for the 18percent blog. I write about mental health issues and share experiences from my own life in order to show how bad they really are.

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