From aged 12-16?Bulimia was my 'clever little trick', an easy way to get rid of most evening meals and any 'treat' foods - like on Sunday afternoons we would often have High Tea; bread and jam,?biscuits and cakes. When I was 16, I?was subjected to a horrendous ordeal, that I kept from my family (for fear of retrebution) for a over a month, whilst privately going through hell and the worst feelings ever. Although I did eventually tell my Mum and one of my Sisters, the days of therapy hadn't?yet been invented back then, and the matter the not dealt with, talked about or mentioned.?From this point onwards, where my self hatred, loathing and total distain for my own body REALLY kicked in and I first had thoughts of not wanting to live anymore. By 19 years old I was working and living indepentantly from my family, which gave me all the time in the world to binge and purge as much as and often as I wanted to. My worst years with Bulimia were from aged 19 - 25. During these years I always worked,?I had relationships (even living with one boyfriend for 3 years whilst secretly being a full blown bulimic), but all the while I binged and purged and hated every inch of myself. I so wanted to be loved, to FEEL loved and whilst I'm sure some of my partners at that time DID love me, because I hated myself so much it was like trying to bale water out a sinking?Titanic with a teaspoon! When I wasn't in a full time relationship my choice of boyfriend was poor since my self esteem was non existant I made the wrong choice, had some very bad experiences, which just made myself hate myself even more. Most evenings and weekends were the same for me; binging until I was so stuffed with food it felt like my stomach would burst, I would then go to the loo and make myself sick and then go and start eating again. I would be disgusted with myself and always swear I would NEVER do that again, but the very next day I would be doing it all over again.
There were times during making myself vomit, that large clumps of food would become completely stuck in my throat and I could neither swallow them back down or force them out - I would be choking, totally unable to breath, with my heart beating so hard that it felt like it would burst out of chest as I paniced, frantically trying to get the food to move and all the time thinking "This is it, I'm going to die". Fortunately, the food did always shift and I would be left gasping and crying on the toilet floor, realising how close to death I had come and I would solemly swear to myself I would NEVER do that again, and yet without the know-how of controlling my illness, I did carry on and on with same awful behaviour.
Once I was living in a bedsit and as I was worried about being heard making myself sick in the communal bathroom, I took to being sick into plastic bags in my room and then waiting for a chance to take them out to the outside bins - totally gross right - but totally true. I tried not to look at myself in full length mirrors and if photographed would only see how 'horrible and huge' I looked.