[TRIGGER WARNING: DESCRIPTIONS OF AN EATING DISORDER - BULIMIA NERVOSA]
I can’t shake off the feeling that everyone is looking at me. I can almost feel the pressure of everyone’s stares on my back as I cross the football field's length, my teammates slapping my back in congratulations. But I can sense their eyes lingering on my not-so-muscular build, on the synthetic material sticking to the layer of fat on my skin. Still, I’m careful to keep the smile on my face as my teammates celebrate their win, not wanting them to sense my discomfort.
I let them whisk me off to a restaurant for a celebratory dinner while I google the restaurant's menu and calculate the calories of each meal. Skipping this meal isn’t an option since we’ve won the tournament, so I bury my discomfort as I stare at the meal placed in front of me, pushing the food around with my fork.
But as the morsels of food enter my mouth, I relish the flavour exploding in my mouth. Soon enough, feelings of sadness and shame start to bloom in my chest, their vines growing out and restricting my heart. The sense of not being enough starts to take over me, and I start force-feeding myself in earnest as the most compelling urge to eat more takes over me. I order more dishes and more junk, and my teammates mistake my behaviour for happiness and encourage me.
My stomach felt full, but I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop shovelling food inside my mouth even when the exotic food lost its taste, and it felt like eating cardboard. I kept eating even as my stomach hurt, eating so fast that I could barely breathe. As the night ended, I could finally stop myself from eating; but I felt full until to my throat, my stomach hurting as it stretched to accommodate the amount of food I ate.
That was when the guilt started seeping into my skin, flowing to my heart which distributed the poisonous feeling of shame all over until that was all I could think about; increasing the sense of shame multifold and overwhelming me with its intensity. I excused myself to the washroom, locked the door behind myself, stuck my fingers down my throat, and retched. I turned on the tap to hide any sounds as I threw up violently, the force of it all bringing tears to my eyes. But I didn’t stop. I didn’t stop till I was dry heaving, each cough burning in my throat but bringing up nothing. For good measure, I stuck my calloused fingers down my throat one last time, my sore throat burning in protest, but no food coming out.
Satisfied, I shut the running water faucet. I unlock the door, careful to wash my hands properly. Popping three mints into my mouth to mask any unwanted odour, I smooth down my hair and walk out towards my team, quickly falling into my role– captain of the Men’s Football team in my university, successfully hiding my secrets from all my friends.
The next day, I find myself working out more than usual at the gym, my muscles burning in protest as I add more weight and lift it upwards, holding it longer than I can. “Your form’s looking good,” someone yells out to me, and I smile, wiping the sweat off the tips of my hair and brows. On my way back to the dorm, I raid the grocery store for snacks, close the door to my room, and stuff the snacks into my mouth until I feel full and sick, the familiar feelings of guilt and shame slowly rising onto the surface.
I lock the bathroom door and vomit until my throat hurts. Binging, purging, working out. Binge and purge. I’ve been stuck in this vicious cycle for so long that it no longer seems abnormal. I eat three times a day: breakfast, lunch, and dinner; and vomit three times a day. This has become a daily routine in my life, ingrained so deeply. And I’ve been doing it so stealthily that I haven’t roused suspicion in the people around me.
It started in high school when I gained extra weight and couldn’t perform my best. After days of the glares, stares, and negative comments thrown my way by everyone, becoming immensely aware and occupied with my weight and food, this cycle of binging, purging, and working out started. And I can’t bring myself to end it.
With each passing day, I’m aware of my illogical thoughts and behaviours; but the urge to binge becomes so huge that I can’t stop thinking about eating, and I can’t help but give in. And after eating more than I actually can, I’m drowning in the depths of shame and guilt until I purge the food out of my system.
Some days, I realize in the middle of the night that I didn’t flush out a small food item I ate sometime during the day out of my system. And I spend the rest of the night trying to retch it out until tears are streaming down my cheeks and my throat feels like a strip of sandpaper.
This routine continued until I couldn’t hide the tainted, dark shadows behind my shiny, golden, perfect exterior anymore. My roommate started expressing his concerns about my behaviour, noticing my frequent trips to the bathroom, my swollen cheeks, my yellowed teeth, and some episodes of fainting and reduced energy. Only after I reached out for help did I find my way out of the cycle that had been ruling over my life.
But I’m still always worried about relapsing, about falling into my previous faulty patterns of eating and purging. I’m constantly alert about my eating habits, careful not to weigh myself or think too much about my body shape. I’ve broken the cycle once and am careful not to fall into the vicious cycle again.
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This is a glimpse of the everyday life of someone with Bulimia Nervosa. Bulimia nervosa is an eating disorder that causes you to eat large amounts of food at one time (binge) and then get rid of it (purge). It is a serious eating disorder marked by bingeing, followed by methods to avoid weight gain. Bulimia is a potentially life-threatening eating disorder. This is the story of a fictional character whose experiences are written for a better understanding of this condition.
If you feel like your experiences are similar to what is being portrayed in this blog, do not hesitate to reach out for help. Asking for help doesn’t mean that you are weak.
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– Chandana Bonagiri
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