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My Eating Disorder I Had A Problem With Food

2424 words - 10 pages

My Eating Disorder - I Had a Problem with Food

Everyone wanted to see me get fat, I was sure of it. For once in my life I had some semblance of control over my body in a way no else did. Managing my body took discipline and I was not going to have anyone interfere. I sat crouched in the small space between my parents’ bathtub and toilet, the cool white ceramic tiles reflecting the blonde of my hair, the tears that somehow managed to eke out of the eye ducts were streaming down my hot, mucus slathered face. In the corner behind the toilet, the dog hair swirled in little eddies, and the rim of the toilet had faint speckles of urine, unnoticeable to anyone not at eye level. The shower was on and the fan running as a distraction. Every once in awhile I would knock a bar of soap into the tub with a heavy thud or set a bottle down hard enough so that anyone listening at the door would be fooled and actually think I was in the shower. I used to vomit in the shower, pushing the chunks of food and bright colored foamy mucus down the drain, but one night, in my hurry to clean up, I had not been able to push a slice of pickle down the drain grates and my mother found it. Pickles, raw vegetables, and spaghetti were the hardest foods to fit down the drain.

As I basked in the hazy afterglow of my purge I tasted the blood, sweet and thick as it trickled down my throat and knuckles. Lately there had been more blood and my knuckles were forming bright red raised scaly patches, scarring over in thick nubs from the constant scraping against my teeth. After a meal or a drink I would wait ten agonizing minutes until I could leave the table and say I was taking a bath. Locking myself in the bathroom I would run the water, hover over the toilet and in a semi-conscious state jam all four fingers down my lumpy bleeding throat, past the tonsils and pressing down the epiglottis. No one’s body can resist the gagging fit brought on by covering the epiglottis. The body actually adapts to constant gagging, and over time it takes more effort to make the stomach and throat submit, but once the epiglottis is depressed, the stomach immediately surrenders its contents. I had on several occasions been careless and forgotten to push down the little fleshy flap so that my fingernails caught the gill-like covering, cutting it as my finger was momentarily lodged, cutting off my air and making my throat sting with fresh blood. My gums were oozing and the sticky phlegm that coated my cheeks and lips was burning the open sores. My teeth ached. In my daze of ecstasy and exhaustion, I began contemplating the amount of blood dripping down my throat and hands, watching it pool with the green bile and snotty strings of mucus on the surface of the water. Perhaps I did have a problem. As I walked over to the scale, wiping my hands on the bath towel I wondered if throwing up was also making my hair fall out. I had been noticing that my hairbrush was full of long blonde hairs and my head...

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