Happy happy!

Day 4 and counting!
Today hasn't even really been a struggle, for the first time since I can remember I didn't even think about it.
The whole day I've been packing my stuff up to go back to university, as well as my case for PARIS! I really do have the most amazing boyfriend there is, whisking me away to the most romantic city in the world at just the right time.
Of course the skinny Parisian girls are going to give me a complex, of course all the French breads and cheeses are going to make me panic, of course the tiny hotel rooms with the toilet about an inch from Jack at all times is going to make it difficult for me to 'do it', but do you know what- I don't care. I'M GOING TO PARIS!

Feeling so positive today, hopefully I can keep it up!
Not heard from the eating disorder clinic yet, don't even think I need it anymore, I can do this alone.

Confused

I spoke to my boyfriend of a year, Jack, about everything properly for the first time today.
He obviously knew what was going on, he came with me to the doctors appointment I was forced to go to by the nurses at the hospital who threatened to have me admitted against my will if I didn't go, and we've talked about it before. But we've never properly spoke about it in so much detail before.

I started right from the very beginning- I was just a 15 year old self conscious kid who thought she was fat and had mummy issues, who one day turned to comfort eating.
I ate a lot that day, I remember every biscuit, every piece of chocolate, every bite of every cheese sandwich. I knew I was being stupid, but something clicked in my head halfway through that if it went in, it could come out, so I carried on until I actually had a weird excitement about finishing and giving purging a go.
It wasn't as easy as I thought; it hurt, it came out my nose, I stunk.
It wasn't bad enough to put me off though, I just vowed to get better at it.
I remember googling it and coming across a 'pro-ana' website. I had absolutely no idea what it meant, I had never known anyone with any sort of eating disorder and I guess I was too naive to think what I found wasn't normal. Girls giving each other tips on how to purge, how to not eat, how to get away with it. 
My fifteen year old self thought she had just hit the jackpot and immediately thrived to be like the girls posting on the site, they were so strong, they had the self control to stop themselves from eating and more importantly, they were thin.
Soon enough I promised the girls on the website that I wouldn't binge anymore, I would simply purge any meal or snack I had to eat. They assured me this would be better as it would eliminate unnecessary calories I would have been getting before. 
I made friends with one girl, Hannah, who I am still friends with now, that was a similar build to me. We would come up with diet plans, sticking to 200 calories some days, 600 the next, and eventually fasting, weighing ourselves incessantly and comparing our results. It would kill me if her weight was less than mine, and although we sugar coated it as 'helping each other', we were always competing.
I'm not stupid, I'm not passing the blame of my 'problem' to them, it was completely my fault and if I hadn't had the encouragement from them I would have learnt these things myself anyway, but looking back now I was catapulted into a world of unhealthy competitions and guided towards a world of starvation and obsession.
Eventually I was testing myself, seeing how long I could last without eating before my excuses ran out.
"I've already eaten"
"I feel sick"
"I'm doing my homework I'll have it later"
"Can I eat it upstairs?"
The longest I can remember fasting for was 8 days, after that my mum was away and my stepdad thought he'd rent a film and made fajitas to eat while watching it. My conscience wouldn't let me tell him to watch it himself.

Jack's reaction to all this was "wasn't it hard not to eat?"
Not at all. At first it was a struggle, but eventually the feeling of being empty, and knowing that you were doing it, you were winning, was what I imagine a druggies 'high' to feel like.
It eventually became more difficult to get out of meals, and that's when my trusty purging returned.
I'd have to hide containers of sick around my room and wait until the coast was clear one night before getting rid of them all.

Sooner or later I decided enough was enough, I had proved to myself I was strong, I could do it, so now I could stop. And I did get better for a while, until I went for a final bridesmaid dress fitting for my dads wedding and they couldn't do the zip up. I have never felt so worthless and disgusting as I did that day.

I honestly didn't think I had a problem.
I wasn't like all those other girls online, they were so thin and strong, I was fat and weak.
Saying it all out loud to Jack today, and even typing it now makes me realise just how unhealthy it was, maybe I did have a problem.
Maybe I still do, I don't know.

It's been three days since I last made myself sick.
I thought it would be easy, I controlled it not the other way around, but today I had to fight the urge so hard I was in tears and now I'm not so sure.
Jack says I have an unrealistic image of myself and that I'm beautiful. This is all I have ever wanted to hear so why is it still not enough? What am I fighting for?
I spoke to Hannah today too, she told me to lie to the eating disorder people and that since I'm 20 there is nothing they can do, I need to carry on with this and I can't give up.
I really don't want her to beat me, if I quit the game then I have lost. But if I don't quit the game I have still lost, I will lose everything else, including Jack.
I didn't think things would be this hard.

The secret's out

So, after hiding it for what seems like a lifetime, my dirty little secret has finally been discovered.
Its kind of my fault, maybe I shouldn't have given up the game so easy when I collapsed and was taken to hospital but according to the doctors, the fact that I did means I 'finally wanted help', whatever 'help' actually is. He shouldn't have even told my dad, I'm an adult- what ever happened to doctor/patient confidentiality?

So here is my blog- the life of a recovering bulimic. If that's what they want to call me.

I've always had an issue with the way I look and with food, I even have a memory of when I was 7 years old and I tried making myself sick for the first time. I wasn't very good at it, but I turned around afterwards to find my mum standing behind me holding my then baby brother and I was terrified. She never said a word and never has, I wonder if she even remembers, but I didn't try it again. Until I was 15 that is.
All I can remember from that time is that my stepdad's business had just crashed, we'd had to up and leave our big, beautiful, dream house with a toy room in the converted loft, huge bedrooms and a conservatory running the entire length of the house, to play families in the less appealing, cramped, mid terrace house in the middle of a less friendly area.
The move didn't bother me at all, but it did my mum.
Her drinking got worse, much worse and her and my stepdads fights progressed with it.
I suppose this is the kind of thing they're going to blame my 'problem' on, but in all honesty I was glad they had their own issues, it meant I could sort out my own- my hideous, disgusting body.
I don't know where the idea to stick my fingers down my throat (or purge, a much nicer word I'm sure the doctors are going to use until they go blue in the face) came from. It just made sense; food goes in, food comes out, no fat gained.
Sadly it doesn't necessarily work like that.
I was binging on biscuits, crisps, sweets, chocolate, anything I could before running upstairs and getting rid of it. Sometimes during the manic eating episodes I would eat something colourful first, say cheesy Doritos, so I'd know when my sick turned orange I was okay to stop, I'd got it all up.
Sooner or later I was making a stop to the bathroom after every meal, every snack, every bite of food. At one point I remember someone was in the bath and I was desperate to get rid of it, so as we had a separate shower, I dived in and did my business there.
After that day I hid a stash of carrier bags down the side of my bed for future crisis times.
It was all a bit sad I guess.
I've never cut myself, I'm not brave enough for that, I'd do it the easy way; burning myself with my hair straighteners. I have multiple scars down my wrists from pressing the hot blades against my skin when I was angry, or upset, or just wanted a reminder of how fat and ugly I was. I moved on to the tops of my thighs, then mum found a page of my diary when I was 18 that mentioned it and it was no more burning and straight onto the citalopram for me, never to be mentioned again (unless mum was drunk and wanted to pick on me for the millionth time- 'oh what you gonna do, burn yourself? I might be a shit mum but at least I don't BURN MYSELF').
Dad never knew anything, until he got the call on Sunday night to tell him an ambulance had been called and he should get there right away. I wish he still had no idea, at least then I could go for a pee without anyone having their ear pressed up against the door or demanding to see my plate before I scraped it in the bin after dinner.

I always hated myself. Still do.
There is not one single thing I like about myself, but according to my doctor there has to be, no-one hates every part of themselves. Maybe I'm an exception.
Maybe this eating disorder clinic will actually make me feel better about myself, or maybe it will be exactly what I expect- a heap of shit.
Guess I just have to wait for the letter with my appointment, until then it's bye bye privacy, hello 21 year old child.