You’re Bulimic? You Do What?!

Warning: This specific article is graphic and may be triggering.)

My bulimia was a pallet of colors. As dreamy as that could sound, this wasn’t as innocent as a coloring book, rather colors were my guide. For years, I memorized the colors of the foods I would consume so that I’d know when to stop making myself throw up. If I knew the last ‘bad’ food I’d had hours before was, say, mint ice cream; I‘d make myself sick till I threw up sea moss ribbons and moved into a steady flow of yellow liquid. Yellow meant bile, yellow meant stop. Yellow was good.

Bile was always a great sign. It meant there was nothing left in my stomach. When that would happen, I’d slowly get up from kneeling position, turn off the bathroom lights, wipe my mouth and brush my teeth. At that point, I was surrounded by darkness. Pitch black. Why lights off, you may ask? Because after an episode, I couldn’t handle looking at myself; it was one thing to feel disgusting, but it would have been another one to actually see myself going through the aftermath of trying to cover ‘it’. At least in the dark, while I could picture the scene in my mind’s eye, somehow actually seeing myself in the mirror going through the motions was unbearable.

Repulsed By My Own Bulimic Behaviors

Looking back, I’m repulsed at the behaviors I did while I was bulimic. I suspect it’s also why it took me a long time in the very early stages of bulimia recovery to open up about my condition. My eating disorder was the most isolating experience of my life. I felt the stigma that came with living day in, day out with a mental illness. Perhaps the most isolating element was that to the outside world, I still looked fine; that is, until it was almost too late. From my experience, the worst part about suffering from a mental illness was that I looked normal; highly functional even, but this image I presented the world with had nothing to do with how I really felt inside.

"I'm Bulimic," Followed By Disgust and Disbelief

Even when I started to disclose my bulimia, I could see disbelief and disgust in the faces of some of the people I’d open up to. With time, I understood why. They couldn’t picture me, the person in front them, starving and then eating every possible item during a binge episode, only to throw it up moments later. If I did share, and even when I do now, I’m usually told many variations of “I never would have guessed if you hadn’t told me.” Physically, I looked incredibly normal. I’d eat when I’d go out with friends, but memorize the food colors for when I got home. The skin around my mouth was dry from so much exertion but, the enamel on my teeth was a normal white (though with time the enamel would have worn down from the stomach acid). My weight fluctuated, though to my dismay, I never went below a size 6 or 138 pounds.

Today, I sometimes catch myself agreeing in my mind with the comments I’ve been told over time. Yes, my bulimia was a disgusting and disturbing experience, but it doesn’t take away from the fact that at the time, the behaviors associated with the disease were something I couldn’t stop doing. I had a mental illness and with the maturity of the experience behind me, I believe that what is even more disturbing is not to talk about the whole thing. What is more disgusting is to pretend it’s not happening at all. Until, we are willing to admit it to ourselves and share our experiences with others, communally, we are just facilitating the problem. Much like in the case of any mental illness, ignoring the condition won’t make it go away.

Disclosing Bulimia

I’d like to end this blog by sharing some of my experiences with you, in light of this week’s topic. At some point, when you do decide to share your eating disorder condition with people, here are a couple of things you might want to consider:

• If you’re contemplating recovery or are currently in the early stages of it, be careful in choosing who you tell. Being faced with the wrong or unexpected comments may be triggering. Some comments might be too hurtful for you to handle. Of course, you can’t predict how someone will react. You can only go with your gut feeling, and since building confidence in yourself is a big step in the recovery process, trust that your instincts are right when you’re considering telling someone, or not. In my case, the first person I told was a doctor. The second was a faceless voice from a helpline, and the third was a childhood friend.
• If someone responds to you by telling you that what you’re doing is disgusting, remember that if you don’t like the conversation, you can always change it, and/or walk away. However, if you want to try to get the person to understand your condition, tell them that you appreciate their honesty, but that if it seems disgusting for them, they can only imagine how it must feel for the person living with it. Then use concrete examples of feelings and behaviors you experience in order to illustrate your reality as someone who is suffering from an eating disorder or in recovery.

At the end of the day, speaking about your eating disorder is one of the first steps in the recovery process. Much like a blank canvas, it’s the first splash of color you need to cast in order to paint a bigger and better reality for yourself.

I’d love it if you shared your thoughts and experiences with me about ‘coming out’. How was it? What prevents you from it if you haven’t?

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