I didn’t realize until recently how unhealthy and DISORDERED my mindset was these past five years–in all stages of an ever-changing eating disorder. After presenting about my experiences to my college a few times I’ve realized that when I talk about my past eating disorder practices, the person I speak of seems so different from the Rachael I know now. I didn’t realize how much I’ve changed because it’s been so gradual, but when I write it all out as I’ve done here, it becomes clearer than ever.
7 a.m.: Wakeup and the first thing you think is BREAKFAST. But you weigh yourself first, of course.
You run to the cafeteria in the darkness of dawn, feeling the ache of an empty stomach and a crazed anticipation to eat at last. You arrive exactly the time it is suppose to open but rage within when you realize the cafeteria has not opened yet. You are starving starving starving.
It opens five minutes later and you eat the exact amounts you have measured and promised yourself. You eat it all slowly, controlled with a tiny sample spoon you saved from an ice cream shop a few months ago. You are still hungry when you leave but you know that will be your biggest meal of the day because MIND RULES.
You anticipate lunch all morning. You are the first person at the cafeteria when it opens because you are starving starving starving. You eat with your teammates and try to participate in conversations but all you are thinking is how many calories how many portions how many bites how many vegetables how much do they think I am eating how much are they eating will they notice what a glutton I am what if I can’t avoid desserts.
But you escape without desserts and run through the hunger in the afternoon and anticipate/dread dinner since that has to be the SMALLEST meal of the day because MIND RULES.
You chew through a whole pack of gum an hour after dinner to avoid eating, and hit the pillow with stomach rumbling.
You wake up feeling guilty. You wonder why you feel guilty.
And then you remember.
You remember the three sandwiches, the four granola bars, mounds and mounds of peanut butter, trying to stuff down vegetables so you can keep the binge as low-calorie as possible. You remember going to bed with your stomach aching, fit to burst, hating yourself, wishing you could have had more self control.
But it’s a new day, so you’re starting over—right?
With each meal the dread of a binge is there—but you don’t know when it will come. You don’t control when it comes. You DO feel the urge build, though.
You try to make strange concoctions of food to keep it as low-calorie as possible so that you can try to lose the weight again. Week after week you feel like you’ve found “it”—the best way to eat. This morning it’s chopped bell peppers, cucumbers, and steamed sweet potato.
And in class you might be eating some oranges, but you are so self-conscious that people will smell it, that they will stare at you, that they think you are a gluttonous pig.
Track practice feels uncomfortable because you ate too close to practice, and you knew this as you were eating, but the urge to eat is so strong, so animalistic, that you can’t resist any and all food even though you know there are consequences. You can’t resist and now your body is suffering through the run because you are not used to handling so much food, so many heavy fats from avocados or granola bars and chocolate and peanut butter.
You have a night class and you bring in your oatmeal-tuna-coconut oil-vegetable “stew” to try to go as low-calorie as possible. You are aware that this is a strange combination but it’s your “safe” food, and you feel like people are staring and thinking about what you’re eating and you hate eating in front of people because of this but you are so, so hungry. Food is not about pleasure—it was never about pleasure since you started counting calories. And even when you finish your meal you think about what other foods you can get.
During the break, after much contemplation as you try to focus on the lesson, you cave into the vending machine food and buy two granola bars, sink your teeth into them, and transport yourself into heaven. And then they are all you are thinking about for the rest of class—how guilty you feel about eating the “forbidden” and how badly you still want more.
You come back to your apartment late at night after class only to shovel in all the food possible, hating yourself, your body, how out of control you feel, how you wonder when this will all end, when the weight will stop piling on, when the obsession with food will diminish. It is still ALL you think about.
You’re sad. Frustrated. You want to fight back. You don’t want to feel the ache and pain and guilt from bingeing, so bulimia gives you power. When you’re angry with someone, you can just flush it away. When you’re frustrated with yourself, you can just flush it away. When you feel guilt from the food, you can just flush it away.
It is violent. It is purging food AND emotion from these past few years. It is releasing all the pent up anger and frustration with your body for all these years of pain and heartache and frustration and stigma. But no one will have to see your anger and frustration because you can hide it while still letting it all out. And now you have a form of control again like restriction. But since you can’t restrict anymore, this is your new control.
HA. You laugh at your body, at it’s ignorance, because aren’t YOU in control again now?
You eat and purge all day. You eat, and purge, and then you feel hungry again twenty minutes later because purging, you realize, doesn’t really do anything except waste the food you were buying. And to escape the hunger again immediately after a purge you escape and bike to the Y, because if you work out, you will take away the pain. But the moment you get there your stomach screams and you cannot even walk into the building. The intensity of how badly you want food gets you back on that bike and you’re flying back to your home, even contemplating stopping at Jimmy John’s on the ten-minute bike ride because your body is that desperate for food NOW.
Bulimia is not a fix.
I still wake up in the morning shocked with my appearance. I am still getting used to looking at “now” pictures because I am not used to a body like this. But I no longer wake up with guilt. My weight has been stable. I still have downfalls once in a great while, but nowhere near to the extent I had before. I pack a healthy lunch and peanut butter sandwiches for school. I eat the sandwich calmly in class, no longer worried about what other people think about my food. I engage in conversations and I’m able to pay attention. I laugh and smile and feel like I am MYSELF at last–without food and the obsession with running better to dominate my thoughts. I’m not constantly thinking about when my next meal will be because I eat until I am full and I go about my day. I’ve been cooking new foods and enjoying going out to eat with friends and family. I don’t have set times or schedules. I listen to my body and enjoy the peace of mind.
I do not weigh myself. I do not count calories.
As of right now, I have recovered from the eating disorder.
Granted, I still have some quirks and I still remember all the calories of most foods. I still try to eat healthy, but this time it’s with a healthy mindset. I may purge once in a while but it’s very rare now. There will always be a lingering fear from something that I dealt with for five years.
There is no quick fix or absolute answer. All I can say is that it has come with patience, learning my triggers, avoiding the competitive running life for a while, and learning how to be happy with MYSELF.
In two weeks, I graduate college. I’d say this is a nice way to enter the next phase of my life.
No matter how many times I may look in the mirror and find what is wrong with my weight, sometimes what I really need to look at is what I can improve on in myself–who I am, how I represent myself to others, and how I can improve my relationships with friends and family. I seem to forget how I relate to others when I have put so much emphasis on the relationship with myself–which certainly needs to be strong, but I do want to avoid limiting myself to just my experience.
I’ve begun to notice this downfall of mine more and more over the years, but it took a good friend of mine to be honest and point it out. While the mirror has been so blurred and confusing in terms of physical weight, this wake-up call was a whole new weight for me to bear—and hearing it a second time never made me feel so mentally heavy and paralyzed.
I did not cry. And for me, that’s saying something, because I cry a LOT. I think the lack of tears was due to the realization that I was finally told something that I had been thinking about for some time now, but just needed someone to firmly point it out—and not in an accusing way, but simply as an observation.
This observation confirmed my discomfort. The honesty hit me hard, but it also brought a sense of relief. I was thankful it took someone close to me—someone who I value their thoughts and opinion—because it made the wakeup call that much stronger. I only wished I hadn’t acted that way for someone I care about. Luckily it may help save me in future relationships with friends and family, and help me to conduct myself in a way that is more fitting to the kind of person I want to be and the kind of person other people want to be around.
It’s painful, especially as a perfectionist, to hear where I am not so perfect. To hear something that doesn’t measure up to the kind of person I want to be makes me realize how blind I have been. Automatic response? Panic, self-loathing, a resolve to work harder and fix it immediately. But I know there can’t be an automatic fix, and that simply being more aware of this part of me and allowing myself to gather and accept feedback from others is critical in my growth. I don’t want to change everything about who I am of course, but I do want to work on something that I know doesn’t represent the person I want to be. It is in recognizing our imperfections that we learn to become better people.
The good thing about all of this is that it’s yet another thing that will help me move on from the eating issues because it allows me to avoid focusing so much on my appearance, and more on how I conduct myself in front of others and avoid limiting myself and my views. Eating disorders are limiting, and so is the perfectionist who refuses to see what keeps her tied down. I love myself and want to continue to grow, and I will love myself enough to recognize what I want to fix—not because I feel I should change for others to like me more, but because of how I feel I should change for myself.
I get it, I get it! I take selfies, and I take lots of them–more than I ever even put on social media, to be honest. And I understand that selfies get a bad rap for suggesting self-absorption and infatuation with oneself. People assume that when you take a ton of selfies, it is a sign that you can’t stop looking at yourself, you think you are prettier than everyone else, or that you are trying to feel prettier due to low self-esteem.
I get it.
But here’s my take: selfies can be art, just as writing about oneself is considered art in the form of memoir. I love being able to use my own face with different lighting to convey different emotions. I love that I can portray my feelings in a form other than words, and in the same way as writing, connect with others on the level of human emotion and experience.
I understand that I am not a perfect human (this whole website is about my mistakes and downfalls, after all). I understand that I am not drop-dead gorgeous or “worthy” of a modeling contract (or however that works). But I do like how I look, and that should be totally okay. I will embrace what I appreciate about myself, but more than anything I value selfies for the reason that they are a nice way to represent, appreciate, and share oneself in a manner different from words.