Let's Get Personal: Part III: My Experiences with an Eating Disorder (part 1)
This post is hard to write. But, I mean, I suppose any of the topics I want to talk about in my 'Real Life' series will be hard to write - that's what makes them personal, right? So I'm just going to jump straight in. Side note: I’m breaking this topic into two or three posts because it’s just too much to do all at once.
I suffered from an eating disorder for all of my 20's and the very early part of my 30's. I went through a huge life transition in my very early 20's (ended a long term relationship, moved to a place I *did not* love, felt very isolated from friends and family, etc. etc.) and I just felt really lost and lonely. I've always been physically active, but, in my misery, I took my level of fitness up by about 10 notches. I really had nothing else to do. I would slave away on the treadmill for hours at a time, trying to fill my hours with something that would take me out of my lonely and sad little condo. Free weights became my new best friends (but not too heavy, mind you - I didn't want to "bulk up"). I attacked my mid-section with so many different varieties of ab workouts that laughing or sneezing constantly made me wince a little from my ever-sore muscles.
My obsession with working out slowly crept into an obsession with eating "clean". Food quickly became categorized as either “good” or “bad”. Processed food = bad. Carbs = bad. Fats (even the healthy kinds) = bad. Certain fruits = bad. I became very particular with what I allowed in my body, but, I still wasn't satisfied, so I started keeping a food and calorie journal. I tracked everything, down to a splash of milk in my coffee or one baby carrot. Eating an apple felt like a splurge, and I wouldn't allow myself to eat it until I was almost weak with hunger. Looking back, the amount of energy and calories I was burning in the gym (a lot) compared to the amount of calories I was consuming (a tiny) blows my mind. Ugh, I just wish I could give my 21 year old self a hug and assure her that eating a piece of cake or even some freaking avocado wouldn't be the death of her. But, I digress.
Well, it goes without saying that my body was craving calories and the starvation mode I was putting myself in wasn't going so well. So I found myself binging. At first it started with a couple of granola bars after the gym (which I totally considered a binge then). But, over time, I slowly worked my binge sessions into all-out feasts: consuming two day's worth of calories in one sitting. I would drive around from grocery store to grocery store, or fast food place to fast food place, stocking up on food that I would devour in the privacy of my car or that sad and lonely little condo of mine. Collecting and devouring that food was a rush and the endorphins were in full force. I became addicted to the high of gorging myself....of finally feeling myself get full and of filling the emptiness that resided within my rapidly shrinking body. My normally concave belly extended so far I looked 6 months pregnant.
And then, a different kind of rush came on. The high was gone. I felt disgusted with myself and by the food weighing heavily in my stomach. The food needed to leave my body ASAP. So I made myself throw up. Bent over the toilet in my bathroom, I would make myself retch until there was nothing left coming up except stomach acid. The toilet joined the treadmill and light free weights on my list of bffs. My normally concave belly felt even more concave. I was ecstatic. I felt cleansed. And, the morbid cherry on top was that I was finally in control of something! I could eat whatever shit I wanted, and then get rid of it whenever I pleased! I truly felt it was the best of both worlds.
And so began the toxic cycle and journey of self-inflicted abuse.
I suffered from an eating disorder for all of my 20's and the very early part of my 30's. I went through a huge life transition in my very early 20's (ended a long term relationship, moved to a place I *did not* love, felt very isolated from friends and family, etc. etc.) and I just felt really lost and lonely. I've always been physically active, but, in my misery, I took my level of fitness up by about 10 notches. I really had nothing else to do. I would slave away on the treadmill for hours at a time, trying to fill my hours with something that would take me out of my lonely and sad little condo. Free weights became my new best friends (but not too heavy, mind you - I didn't want to "bulk up"). I attacked my mid-section with so many different varieties of ab workouts that laughing or sneezing constantly made me wince a little from my ever-sore muscles.
My obsession with working out slowly crept into an obsession with eating "clean". Food quickly became categorized as either “good” or “bad”. Processed food = bad. Carbs = bad. Fats (even the healthy kinds) = bad. Certain fruits = bad. I became very particular with what I allowed in my body, but, I still wasn't satisfied, so I started keeping a food and calorie journal. I tracked everything, down to a splash of milk in my coffee or one baby carrot. Eating an apple felt like a splurge, and I wouldn't allow myself to eat it until I was almost weak with hunger. Looking back, the amount of energy and calories I was burning in the gym (a lot) compared to the amount of calories I was consuming (a tiny) blows my mind. Ugh, I just wish I could give my 21 year old self a hug and assure her that eating a piece of cake or even some freaking avocado wouldn't be the death of her. But, I digress.
Well, it goes without saying that my body was craving calories and the starvation mode I was putting myself in wasn't going so well. So I found myself binging. At first it started with a couple of granola bars after the gym (which I totally considered a binge then). But, over time, I slowly worked my binge sessions into all-out feasts: consuming two day's worth of calories in one sitting. I would drive around from grocery store to grocery store, or fast food place to fast food place, stocking up on food that I would devour in the privacy of my car or that sad and lonely little condo of mine. Collecting and devouring that food was a rush and the endorphins were in full force. I became addicted to the high of gorging myself....of finally feeling myself get full and of filling the emptiness that resided within my rapidly shrinking body. My normally concave belly extended so far I looked 6 months pregnant.
And then, a different kind of rush came on. The high was gone. I felt disgusted with myself and by the food weighing heavily in my stomach. The food needed to leave my body ASAP. So I made myself throw up. Bent over the toilet in my bathroom, I would make myself retch until there was nothing left coming up except stomach acid. The toilet joined the treadmill and light free weights on my list of bffs. My normally concave belly felt even more concave. I was ecstatic. I felt cleansed. And, the morbid cherry on top was that I was finally in control of something! I could eat whatever shit I wanted, and then get rid of it whenever I pleased! I truly felt it was the best of both worlds.
And so began the toxic cycle and journey of self-inflicted abuse.
Thank you for talking about this so openly. It’s a very real battle that a lot of girls either have struggled with or are currently in the midst of. I have seen very close friends go through this and it was very hard to see. So happy you chose to overcome.
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