Recovering by Myself

I was bulimic. I forget about that part of my life. Actually, I don’t forget at all, I pretend. I pretend I wasn’t dumb enough to get lost in all of it. I pretend that I’m okay with the fact that I lost my best friend of 14 years because of it, I pretend it didn’t matter, that it didn't affect me, and I pretend I won’t be tempted to do it again. 

I haven’t done it in over a year. I am so incredibly proud of myself. Every time I workout, every time I eat a big green salad instead of binge eating, every time I look at myself in the mirror and smile, I am proud. It’s taken me a really long time to get here and I don’t give myself enough credit for the work I’ve put in. It’s been difficult. And the most difficult part was doing it on my own. This isn’t something I advertise. I’ve told a few people I cared about of course, but at the end of the day, no one else could have helped me, only I could have stopped myself. But, I just wish… I wish someone told me they were proud of me. I wish someone realized that I overcame something toxic, an addiction, something that was stronger than me for a really long time. My mom, my sister, my boyfriend, my best friends, a stranger. anyone. 

I’ve been pretending that that part of my life never happened. Unfortunately, the more time spent avoiding admitting it, the heavier it gets. I feel as though I never got closure. It’s always going to be there, a big dark cloud. It may be far away for now, but I know it’s there, and I know it always will be. I still think about doing it sometimes. It almost seems fun to me. The easiness of it all. How wonderful you feel afterwards, the feeling of emptiness, flat stomach, knowing you’ll wake up feeling skinny and ready to go. Isn’t that horrible? superficial? sad? Reading over this, I feel pathetic, I feel as though I’m weak. So weak. Why do I care about that stuff? I’m not fat, I’m not fat at all, I’m healthy. AND if I really needed to lose weight, I have two completely functional legs! I can move my ass and go for a run! But Instead I chose the easy way out. I chose to kneel down by a dirty toilet bowl and force myself to throw up by shoving fingers down my throat. How lovely. That’s not exactly something you want to tell your kids in the future. That is if I can have kids after all the trauma I’ve caused my body. I was selfish. I caused pain to my friends and to my family. I’ve taken advantage of the healthy body that was given to me, something so many people would kill for. I was selfish. 

I don’t want to do it. I don’t want bulimia to be apart of my story ever again. I know it happened, and I accept that. I’m proud of myself for being strong enough to stop on my own, and I know I can do better. It’s not worth it, it’s never been. Although the cloud is there, and temptation will come again, I’ll be stronger. I’ll be stronger for myself and for everyone who loves me and cares about me.

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