I am in control.
The white tiles of my bathroom floor blurred as hot, angry tears streamed down my face. I wiped the tears quickly from my face, closed the toilet lid, flushed, then stood up and looked at myself in the mirror.
My eyes were bloodshot and my throat was raw, but that was the least of my concerns. I was finally perfect.
Or so I thought.
As I neared this unrealistic “perfection,” this twisted disease blossomed within me and with every relapse, it grew stronger.
Let me explain. Bulimia, to be quite frank, is neither glamorous nor effective. The constant stages of bingeing and purging then restricting not only left me incredibly weak, but it also destroyed my self-esteem. I would hide my body in baggy clothing and avoid normal social encounters with classmates or even with my friends. My school grades sunk below the normal since I found it extremely hard to concentrate on the learning material. All I could ever think about was food, calories, exercise, and more food. It completely consumed every aspect of my life.
I did not realize it had become a disease of the mind. To me, it was just my daily routine. Something I needed to do every day and if not every day, every other day. I could not resist the power it had on me. I was not strong enough to say no. Sometimes, I could see that it was controlling me instead of the other way around, but I thought it was the only thing I could hang onto.
That’s when my friends and family members started noticing. My clothes had gotten baggier since and with each passing day, I was growing more and more faint. After months of this vicious cycle, my body had started to react. I had never ending headaches, agonizing calf cramps in the middle of the night, and some hair loss. Every time I walked around my school campus, I saw dizzying black dots in my line of vision and I could barely keep myself from falling.
Fortunately, my loved ones took action and immediately sent me to see a doctor, who recommended that I go to treatment. Everything after that seemed like a haze. Slowly but surely, I worked my way into recovery.
Today, I eat balanced meals throughout the day to suppress my urge to binge and purge. Sure, there is always the temptation to start the cycle again and regain the so-called “control” I had over my life, but I know better now. I needed perfection and control over my seemingly chaotic life. Now, instead of using bulimia as my way out of stress, I draw and I write. It’s opened up an entirely new world to me.
I’m proud to say that although every day is still a struggle, I’ve been able to quiet the controlling voice in my head more and more. I just had to believe that I was capable of moving on and staying strong. Finally, I was able to free myself from bulimia's iron grip and find composure.
But my story is not unique.
There are many girls who struggle with all types of eating disorders. I’m not the only one. If you’re struggling with one right now, I’d like to remind you that you are never alone and that in the end, things will get better. I promise.