kschaefs

Bulimia nervosa - an emotional disorder involving distortion of body image and an obsessive desire to lose weight, in which bouts of eating or even overeating are followed by depression and self-induced vomiting, purging, or fasting

Progression 

I’m not sure that I can even tell you exactly when it started for me. It was a gradual thing. A couple times here and there when I felt overly full and believed that it was justifiable. Then it progressed; “Fuck I shouldn’t have ate that chocolate,” and similar situations seemed to occur more and more. I was never a binge eater, which is typically a common trait of bulimia. But all it would take for that gut-wrenching feeling to trigger inside of me was a bowl of ice-cream or one cheat meal, and once it started building in the pit of my stomach, it felt like there was no fighting it. After a while I was always finding an excuse. Before I even realized it, it was a part of my every day life. And at my worst point, it was a part of my every hour life. If I wasn’t doing it, I was trying to focus on not doing it.

After about a year, it didn’t even feel like it was about the weight loss. It was about the fact that it was now my normal. My mind and body had become addicted and now it was something I just had to do. Which is why it felt surprising when people would point out how small I’d gotten. Friends were frequently telling me how good I looked and what a nice body I had. So automatically, in my mind, it registered as a good thing; ‘I obviously look better than I did before, because of this.’ It wasn’t until a very good, and very blunt, friend of mine drunkenly told me that I was getting too skinny. For the record, this was one person’s opinion, but sometimes that’s all it takes. It was after this comment that I finally started to think, “How long am I going to do this for? What if I do get too small?” I hadn’t even thought about it. I’d become comfortable with this lifestyle. And the only issue that ever really comes with being stuck-in-a-rut comfortable is that you often don’t see the downsides of your situation. You simply overlook them. I’d gotten myself into such a bulimic rut that I had become both physically and mentally addicted to it. I’d sit beside the toilet afterwards and fight back tears because I didn’t even know why I was doing it anymore. I just knew that I couldn’t stop.

Fast forward to about 2 years in, I had starved myself down to a size zero. In some clothing brands, a zero was even too big. And I can’t lie and say that I didn’t feel good about that fact. I’d never been that tiny at any point in my life and I wanted to see it as an accomplishment. But at the same time, I felt ashamed. I knew that I wasn’t going about this the right way and I was terrified at the thought of people knowing what I was doing. It started to feel difficult to find pride in my appearance when so many things about it, other than my weight, were changing.

Hair loss. My hair weakened and thinned. So much that I chopped it all off because it made me too self conscious to know that I’d made my curly golden locks fade into brittle blond straw.

Oral damage. Anyone who knows me really well knows that I’m a clean freak when it comes to my teeth. But even still, I suffered with my gums beginning to recede after a couple years of this new lifestyle. An eye-opening experience was when my dentist finally discussed the health of my gums with me. I firmly believe that we both knew what the real problem was, but that he staged the conversation to make it seem like this had occurred simply from me brushing too hard. I still remember his exact words being, “If you keep doing what you’re doing, you’re going to have no gums by the time you’re my age.”

Poor circulation. I was freezing all the time. This is no exaggeration. I would sleep in layers upon layers of clothes with socks, slippers and a giant sweater on top, while tucked under my duvet. Based off of just what I’ve learned, I believe this happens from losing too much weight, too quickly.

Anxiety. This one was the most life altering of the side effects. And I can’t imagine anyone on earth who would choose to live in this state, just to be thin. In retrospect, I definitely wouldn’t. For those people out there with an anxiety disorder, this section will be nothing new to you. But for everyone else, all I can do is describe to you what I’ve felt.

I’ve lived with GAD for years now and tried, for the first couple of years, to “deal with it” on my own (and by that I mean exercise more and try to keep a ‘mind over matter’ mindset). After I became bulimic, my anxiety became life ruining. I couldn’t sleep at night. I would go 2-3 days at a time on just a few hours of sleep. I’d be dozing off all throughout the day but as soon as the lights went down and it was time to try, I would just lay there for hours while my mind raced.

I couldn’t stand to be alone. The world scared me. I felt vulnerable and afraid all the time and the only way I could try to avoid that feeling was to constantly surround myself with people or other distractions. Hence the reason I could never relax when everyone went home and everything was quiet.

For the people reading this who suffer from any kind of mental disability, you know that it’s out of your control. That you’re totally and completely aware that your feelings are irrational and they won’t make sense to other people and that there’s no realistic reason to be afraid of leaving your house. But that does not mean you can make them stop. This consumed my life and I simply let it. I wallowed in it. There came times when I couldn’t help but think to myself, “I don’t want to be here anymore. I don’t want to be who I am. This can’t be what my life is going to be.”

As much as I thought I liked the way that my body looked, I did not like one other thing about myself or my life at the time. I felt like shit. I was on edge all hours of the day. If I wasn’t throwing up, I was trying to focus on not doing it. I never went out with my friends because it often involved eating or drinking, which had become something that freaked me out. Food became my life. What I ate honestly consumed my mind and the thought of mouthwatering, unhealthy food made me feel threatened.

So what’s the point in striving so hard to attain something if it means sacrificing every moment of happiness in your life? How great is it to reach your goal weight if you don’t enjoy one moment of it?

These are the questions that changed something in my mind.

I can’t emphasize enough that my recovery was anything but quick, even though this entry will probably give that impression. My bulimia went on for nearly five years before I got to a point where I considered myself ‘recovered.’ Even after months of regaining healthy hair, teeth, and weight again, the impact on my state of mind took much longer to recover.

 In all honesty, I have to give a large amount of credit to my ex boyfriend. Even though I still suffered for months after our relationship ended, he helped me pull myself out of the darkest period of my life and I’m not sure what state I would be in today if he hadn’t come into it. He made me feel beautiful and worthy again, like I didn’t need to maintain this awful lifestyle to feel good about who I was. To be completely honest, I don’t know that I would be the person that I am today if it hadn’t been for him. Just kind of goes to show you that even if someone doesn’t stay in your life forever, sometimes their timing is meant for a purpose. I think we both helped each other in areas where we needed it. So if you ever read this, thank you.

That being said, I do believe that I needed to get to a place in my life where I could be happy with myself, without the help of a man boosting my confidence.

After I finally took control over my anxiety disorder, I found that getting a hold of the bulimia seemed a little bit more possible. It took months of determination and therapy, along with finally making the big decision to go on medication for me to start feeling like I had some clarity back. After that, I tried to really focus on what I liked and didn’t like about myself and on finding ways to deal with those things, without the vice of throwing myself over a sink.

 I’ve worked to get myself to a point in my life where I accept who I am. I’m always trying to improve my body, but I now accept that it’s the only one I’ll ever have and I need to embrace it for its beauty and its flaws.

I figure that weight is like money; it’s going to fluctuate too many times throughout your lifetime to even try to obsess over. One month I’ll be lean as ever and eating nothing but raw veggies and dry chicken, the next I’ll have gained five pounds because I had a busy month of late nights and too many sushi dates. And there’s no point in dwelling on it every time your shorts feel tight, because you’re just going to ruin any happy moments you could have along the way.

I’m not a size zero kind of girl. It’s just not who I am. I come from a family of short, curvy women with boobs and hips and that’s just how it is. I’ve accepted that I’ll always get those stomach rolls when I crunch over. That I’ll always have that “extra meat” here and there. And that’s okay. I’m now always trying to be mindful of the fact that although things can always get better, they could also always be worse. Constantly comparing yourself to another person is never going to do anything besides make you feel a way that you shouldn’t.

I’ve found a balance. Not only in healthy vs unhealthy or in working my ass off in the gym vs having a lazy day, but in mental health vs physical. What’s beneficial vs what’s way too strenuous. What keeps me sane vs what drives me to become someone that I’m not. I think the biggest challenge in life, for me, is accepting who you are and to recognize when you’re expecting too much of yourself. Being healthy doesn’t mean having the perfect body and my biggest mistake was allowing what I looked like to define who I became.

So why now?

“To travel is to take a journey into yourself.” - Danny Kaye

This was a quote that was written on the wall of a hostel I stayed in during my time in Thailand. And I can almost credit that quote for my initial desire to write this entry. Maybe it had to do with the distance I got from my life at home. That distance gave me a chance to do a lot of self reflection. The biggest thing that I took away from those 6 months by myself was the strength that enabled me to finally say goodbye to that part of my life. As cheesy and overdramatic as that may sound. (Go traveling by yourself for a lengthy amount of time in a foreign country; I guarantee you’ll have a few epiphanies of your own).

I’m not writing this in any attempt for admiration. I don’t need praise, pity, or any attention towards the way that I look, for that matter. And it really doesn’t matter to me whether this has an impact on 4 people or 400. I’m writing this because it might be enough. Enough to make someone else realize that you’re so much for than your appearance. When I was going through that time of my life, I wish I’d heard someone talk this way. Talk about what they went through and the way they felt. I truly believe it would have been enough to make me think about what I was doing. If one person reads this who is going through anything like what I did, just know that I’ve suffered through it and I know how hard it is. It’s okay to feel the way you feel, but there are much better ways to make yourself feel better. Turning to this kind of method has more cons than pros; believe me.

I think this is something that unfortunately shares the same stigma as mental illness; it’s not talked about enough. The biggest fear of mine regarding people finding out wasn’t necessarily because I didn’t want people to know about my bodily insecurities. I was more ashamed about the fact that I had resorted to this. What would people think? That I was so obsessed about the way I looked that I had to torture myself this way? That I was that narcissistic? And I think those assumptions are rooted in this idea that eating disorders are something to keep hush hush. If I’d ever heard someone talk honestly about his or her experience with it, I firmly believe it would have helped me resolve mine.

I don’t always like my body. I still have days when I can’t stand to look at myself. I’ll see a photo where I think I look unattractive and it’ll gnaw at me. I’ll sometimes find myself gazing at the beautiful girl in the bar, scrutinizing all of my flaws that she doesn’t appear to have. But isn’t THAT just human nature, to always want to jump to the conclusion that we’re so hard done by? To consistently want what we don’t have and disregard what we already do?

I believe that in order to embrace who we are, and to move forward in being who we want to be, we need to come to terms with who we’ve been. I’m all for trying to make myself better. But I’m over trying to make myself something that I’m not.

“The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are stronger at the broken places.” - Ernest Hemingway.

So, as many people are already aware, I’ve been home for several weeks now and have been somewhat putting off writing a cap-off entry to my Thailand anthology. But now I’m sitting here, on my couch, petting my attention-desperate cat for over 50 minutes, and no longer have any excuse.

My overall opinion of Thailand improved significantly after I left Bangkok. Turns out that Thailand might be my favorite country in the world, with the exception of that godforsaken city. Yup, I hate Bangkok. But I loved every other place that I went to.

Malaysia was eye-opening, Ao Nang was a blast, Koh Lanta was pretty much the ideal relaxing beach getaway, Koh Samui never left you with nothing to do, Koh Phangan was just fucking insane, and Koh Tao, well, there are just no words for that week..

People always say that you meet the most interesting people when you’re just bumping around from place to place; and they’re right. I met people from all over this planet and have come away with so many international connections that I could probably travel all of it and have a couch to crash on on every continent. It’s funny how such a strong connection can initiate between two strangers just by agreeing that you both want to try kayaking that day.

Those who saw any of my photos from my month of traveling would know that I spent almost the entirety of that time with three lovely gentlemen (although I’m not sure that’s exactly the way I would go about honestly describing them); Vince, Ross, and Oli. And, as you can imagine, joining up with three 20-something-year-old guys who are traveling the world assumably means that you’ll be partaking in some crazy shit. Which is pretty much exactly what happened.

I attended a Half Moon jungle party; I snorkeled with sharks (well, almost. I attempted to and then fled as soon as I got bit); I climbed barefoot up a waterfall; I rode mopeds on some of the sketchiest / most thrill-inducing roads I’ve ever seen; I drunkenly skinny-dipped in a lavish resort’s private pool (too many times); I experienced a bamboo tattoo; I partook in a boat cruise that drunkenly took us to the kind of views that people dream about; I drank waaaaay too much alcohol for my body (and then miraculously managed to keep doing it for night after night after night); I stood at the edge of a cliff on, what’s said to be, one of the most beautiful islands in the world; and experienced a lot of other things that aren’t as PG-13-rated as I’m attempting to keep these entries.