How do you know when a disorder stops being a disorder?
Simple answer: You don’t.
Fun fact about me that I may have brought up some weird time ago is that I used to purposely throw up my food once I’ve eaten it because I hated the way I look. I think I was 14 or maybe 13 the first time I did it. I cannot quite explain the relief that comes from ridding yourself of a meal. It’s sad. It’s horrible. People are starving but I chose to throw up. My bullimic tendencies were a choice. My disorder was a choice.
Is a choice.
It pains me to say this but I still have a problem. I hate that I do. I hate that something gigantic, something that causes a huge emotional surge in me makes me resort to leaning over of the toilet bowl and making sure my gag reflex is intact. It’s the worst coping mechanism in the world. I do it when I’m stressed, I do it when someone comments about my weight, I do it when I need to have control.
Tonight, my mom made the comment that I gained back the weight I lost while I was away from home. She did this yesterday, too. It’s true, I have. The last few weeks of the semester didn’t involve that much walking to the hospital on a regular basis, so I was naturally more sedentary. And I actually ate my meals properly because I needed fuel to study. So it came back on. I hate that my jeans aren’t lose anymore. I hate that I feel puffier. And while I acknowledged that in silence, my mom brought it up.
She didn’t mean it in a mean way. She was concerned as any thoughtful parent should be. But I’m currently ‘on my cycle’ and I guess I’m more emotional than usual. When she mentioned it yesterday evening, I wasn’t teary yet. But I did throw up this afternoon with her words running in my head. And tonight before dinner, she did it again, asking me if I had been ‘indulging’ more while I was in Johor. I lost my appetite. But of course, I couldn’t NOT eat, that would have made me seem petty. So, I ordered the most tasteless thing on the menu, refused to eat any sides, didn’t finish my meal and when I got home, ten minutes ago, I went to the toilet and ‘did my thing’.
I hate that this is what I resort myself to. I hate that I feel slightly better once I’ve rid myself of food. I can’t fight the hunger, so I eat. But I can control whether or not it gets digested.
I know better. I do. I know what eating disorders do to people. I know how it can destroy you. Does it make it better that I only do it when I’m overwhelmed? Maybe I should just work on not being overwhelmed? On not being sensitive?
I don’t know anymore. I’m typing this here mostly because I need to vent and I feel bad about making people feel obligated to respond. No one reads this anyway, so talking here doesn’t force anyone’s hand. It’s a pathetic state to be in: to want help but not seek it out in a straightforward manner.
I’m just so screwed up right now. I really need a hug.