When it comes to bulimia, I see it as similar to the ‘art’ of smuggling. You know you’re doing something that is wrong, you’re scared of being caught but will stop at nothing to feel the benefits of the act. But when you get caught, your resources are cut off and it becomes much harder to implement.
I was caught vomiting countless times. And my excuse ranged from, me saying I had a headache, or the food was too rich or that I just felt sick. My excuses ran out, and what ever I told my mom or whoever was concerned, they knew I was lying. People knew I was bulimic and I kept trying to deny it, but eventually I was just exhausted. I was tired of psychologists, and seeing as though I had three at one time, I would have to repeat the same story three times. Except for that one psychologist who tried to stop herself from yawning but I could see she wanted to as her nostrils grew bigger and her lips grew longer. I didn’t really talk in her sessions. And then the psychologist who had a beige walled office, beige picture frames, beige chair and couches, beige clothes and a really beige personality, she was a real treat.
Because I was under so much surveillance, and I could see I was damaging my mother physically and emotionally. It became too hard to keep up with bulimia. It was like a job, I had to be dedicated and committed and willing to do whatever it took to benefit. But I noticed my whole life was slowly crumbling, as I said I was destroying my family, getting help from every sector and not taking it, and my academics dropped drastically. Look I was never going to be the Dux Scholar, but I was bright, I was just lazy as all hell. But my main focus was on my weight and it had to stop.
I spent every second break time in my biology teacher’s classroom; writing out the path of a blood cell or the path of lipids during digestion, each 10 times. One of the English teachers who I never really liked, told me I was stupid and the biology teacher said I was going to fail matric so I might as well give up now because I am ‘NOWHERE!’ so school as you can imagine, was a really motivational and inspiring space for me. I cried after school basically everyday because I had been labelled as less than average, and in my mind I told myself I couldn’t do the work because I wasn’t smart enough. Scary how much teachers impact our lives and lead us into a self-fulfilling prophecy of failure or a feeling of worthlessness.
I wanted to prove them wrong, along with some of the girls, who never took what I said in class seriously and who thought I was actually stupid. I tried really hard to eat healthily, I did go to gym everyday but I was eventually back on track and eating properly. I felt good and confident after having no ambition, no drive to do anything vaguely challenging. I was ready and I was going to make a change in my life. This could have also come from me not vomiting up the anti-depressants and anti-anxiety pills I was taking along with my food.
I think the digestion of pills, did make a difference I wasn’t so unhappy with myself or my image. I became less secretive and my childhood bubbly-ness shone, only a little but still, for the first time in 4 years. That wasn’t the only thing that started to shine. When I went out on the weekend, I wasn’t vomiting, or taking laxatives, so alcohol started to take its effect. I was so desperate for social attention I would indulge in alcohol, (now I’m talking 2 ciders and a tequila) and it would result in me becoming the most hilarious girl that night, I wasn’t shy and I could talk to anyone, it was marvellous. I was that girl who would be dared to do something and with no questions would just jump into it. I was also one of the first girls to smoke, so I was super-hardcore (kidding).
This drinking was mild, accepted, if you will. I was the naughty one who drank and smoked. I was happy when I drank because I was funny and people enjoyed my company, and of course they don’t tell 16-17 year olds who are underage, that when taking anti-depressants it’s not wise to drink on them, as it will result in deeper depression or have the opposite effect. I got into a cycle of thinking people only liked me when I was drunk. I was only funny and fun when I was drunk. So here is where my drinking spiral started, I was either sober, sensible, boring wallflower or the crazy but cool girl, which was followed by depression/’losers’. Rock and a hard place, I thought. I had to sacrifice one or the other, so I sacrificed… the sensible one.
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