(November 5, 2017) Trigger warning: moderately graphic eating disorder references. In the storage banks of my mind, where the memories of a thousand episodes of bingeing and purging live, one in particular jumps to the front of the flashback queue. There are other episodes, worse and more deadly, but it’s this one from my second year at university that pops up with the greatest frequency. … Continue reading A bad day with bulimia.
Letting go of my eating disorder means grieving. It’s a loss. I’m losing my coping mechanism and my support system. I’m cutting out a piece of me, and that’s a wrench, despite it being the right choice. The excision will leave a hole, and I need to fill it. Whatever I choose has to feel more important than the eating disorder, a solid challenge. The eating disorder … Continue reading Grief.
This is the excerpt for your very first post. Continue reading 37 years of throwing up.
First times are generally seen as something special. The first bath. The first laugh. The first step, first day of school, and first kiss. We commemorate our firsts with pictures and stories. We add to our memory box. There was no camera the first time I threw up after a meal. I didn’t share my “triumph.” I was nineteen-years-old, living away from home for the … Continue reading First times.
From Famine to Feast 