Part I: Getting Acquainted

I don’t know why I stared it. It’s not like it was forced upon me by others. Regardless for a while I tried to blame it on them. I thought that it was somehow their fault, that they had cursed me with it. However after a while I realized the truth. And so I became accustomed to the idea. They became more and more like friends rather than enemies. After all anorexia and bulimia are both welcomed by the people they infect.

But I’m jumping ahead and I hate it when others do that. Still I can’t remember exactly when it began or why. I just began skipping breakfast in middle school. I didn’t think much about it at the time. After all I would wake up late and simply not have the time to eat.

Then I became aware of what I was doing. That came a few years latter. I guess that means I was in the eighth grade. Even then it didn’t seem like that big of a deal.

I began skipping meals purposely. It was all because someone began complaining that she was a hundred and ten pounds. To me that sounded thin and I wanted to loose weight. It didn’t hit me that she was a good five inches or more shorter than me. I also didn’t realize that she had no figure at all. I on the other hand I had become a woman quickly and was frequently mistaken for a college student.

Regardless of these differences I wanted to be thinner. So I began to give reasons for not eating breakfast. My mother apposed me at every turn. She was worried because I had gym as my first class. Ok so I did have a few dizzy spells but what difference did that make to me? I was doing just find and loosing weight.

Unfortunately I happen to have been a perfectionist. That meant when I did eat I would begin feeling guilty. And mom wanted to know why I wasn’t eating dinner. Not to mention she also wanted to know why my meal ticket had gone down so much.

So I devised the perfect plan. It was so igneous that I praised myself for it. I could eat and then purge, only at the time I didn’t realize that’s what I was doing. After all how did it hurt? Mom never heard me in the bathroom at night, or when I was supposedly taking a shower. As for the meal ticket, well that was just too easy. I would simply charge ice-cream for my friends. Everyone was happy and no one was getting hurt. Or at least that’s what I thought.

Then my friends started getting worried. I told them they shouldn’t bother, that I was eating when I got home. So I wasn’t actually lying… not exactly.

But as time wore on my parents and siblings caught on. With two sisters it’s hard to keep a secrets, especially with my sisters. So I had to quit. Or actually I chose to quit. Although it sounded like something fun to do at first it began to hurt. I think at one time I even tore a hole in my stomach. But oh well that was all in the past and I was going to get better.

Getting well is a lot harder than getting sick. I guess my stomach had shrunk or something. Every time I tried to eat I couldn’t keep it down. However after months of trying and failing miserably I finally got over it. And trust me I swore I’d never do anything that stupid again.

Part II: Relapse

I don’t know why I did it again. Perhaps I lost my mind. Or maybe it was just too much pressure and stress. In my junior year there was a lot of tension. I wasn’t at the top of my class, but I wasn’t exactly at the bottom either. I had, by that time, won two mettles. So maybe it was because of prom. Or perhaps it was because of the pressure to be better than what I was. It seemed like my friends expected me to know all the answers. My parents wanted me to become something. Somewhere, however, I lost who I really was.

I was just going about life in the usual way. I had even started taking dance lessons. After all I wanted to look good for my prom. Unfortunately I hadn’t expected my two friends to come back.

I say friends because for a time that’s what they were. When no one was around they were there. It was odd but true. It made me different from others and I liked that. Anorexia and bulimia were something that only I had. None of my friends had it or really knew anything about it. It was something that I could do for me. Or at least that’s how I felt.

Then I got sick. I think I scared my friends. They didn’t know how to handle it. To them it was something foreign and bad. To me it was comforting. It meant that I was myself.

Well myself became worse. I had no idea what a relapse could do to the body. It became uncontrollable. It was like I was in the middle of a raging storm that I couldn’t get out of. And at that time I did want out.

I knew that I had a decision to make. I could stay anorexic and bulimic or get better. Unfortunately it was a hard decision. To choose health meant gaining back the weight. It also meant that I would have to step outside myself back into the normal world.

Well I had had a taste of both worlds. On one hand I could be sick but I could be myself. On the other had I could be healthy and become a person always pretending. Neither of these choices seemed very appealing.

I chose the first. No matter what no one could tell me how to live my life. I would be special again and everyone would hover over me saying, “Poor girl! How can we help you?” Unfortunately there was a side effect that I was unaware of.

Part III: Misconception and Its Follies

They speak about me very little theses days. No one ever comes to visit me. I’m trapped in this small little room with no one to talk to. They put me here. They told me they would if I didn’t start eating. People always make threats they don’t mean. This time, however, they meant every word.

People always talk about anorexia and bulimia as if they were diseases. Why do you suppose they make that assumption? To me they were just a part of life. When I laid down I could hear them talking to me. “Just a little further and you’ll have met your goal! Won’t that be wonderful! And then we can set new ones! Oh won’t that be a treat?”

Anorexia and bulimia never really scared me. They shielded me from the outside world. Both of them would spring up and say, “She’s different from you that’s all! And she’s not an angel that’s perfect! You’ll just have to deal with it!” Yes with them by my side no one could ever tell me that I needed to stay perfect.

But then they put me in this dreadful room. All those people who hated my friends! All those people who thought they were so smart!

They really were you know. All of those people I mean. They knew what they were talking about. When they put me in this room I could hear anorexia and bulimia laughing at me. They began to say the meanest things, like, “I knew we could do it! If you were so perfect you wouldn’t have given in! Look at you, and you thought you were so smart too! Well how smart are you now?”

And that’s where my story ends. I’m locked in this cold dark room. I can’t even move in here. All those people that told me to get well came to see me. They were all there looking at me and crying. My mother cried too. She was the saddest I think. And now I’ll never get to say I’m sorry. I’ll never get to tell her I love her.

I knew this would happen from the start. I just knew that this is what would happen! If anyone’s going to get caught it’s always me! I’m that ten percent that dye from anorexia. Only ten percent and I’m part of it!

Now I lay here, not as a martyr, or even as a victim. I am here as a willing betrayer. I betrayed my family, friends, and my god. I am no better that a suicide victim. My life was not taken from me. I gave it up to the grave happily.

So here I lay, night and day. A life not taken but given away.