On Wednesday I messed up pretty bad, I was on my third purge of the day and then I threw up bright red blood. In that moment it felt like I had immediately snapped out of the trance that was in and I am convinced that time stopped moving, my heart was racing and my hands were shaking. In my head I kept repeating “what have done, what have I done”. I then started to go through the purge to make sure just how blood there was in it and it was quite a lot, after I got up and cleaned myself up I started praying and asked God if he were to heal me I would never ever ever purge again, I have made God that promise before and I have broken it countless times but on that day, Wednesday, I really meant it.
There are days when I love bulimia, I could stand on the rooftop and yell, I fucking love bulimia and that worries me who thinks like that. I love it when it doesn’t come with complications, I love it when I think of how it was like it was in the beginning I could stop whenever I wanted to, I love it how good releasing those endorphins feels. When I come face to face with it and look it in the eye and it dawns on me just how much of my teenage years I lost to it, how much life i lost, memories that were never made because I was busy stuffing my face and purging, then I hate it. I hate it so much. God.
I didn’t die, my throat feels bruised but I feel fine. I took antibiotics and chewed a lot of garlic. No one knows the scare I had except me and of course those of you who are reading this. I have decided I cannot do this on my own and I have to the realisation that I need therapy or some sort of professional to talk to. I always thought therapy was not helpful and that the only person who can help you is you, it is true though the only person who can help you is you but sometimes you need to ask for help.
The only obstacle is that I would like to keep the whole therapy thing to myself because my parents don’t believe in therapy or taking medication to help cure a mental illness. Both my mum and dad have mentally ill brothers and when their brothers started taking meds they got crazier so they do not believe that meds are the answer. My mum is convinced that it is not a mental illness but rather demons and what not, she is very religious and she is convinced that all I need to do is to go to church pray every day and I’ll be cured. My dad does not really participant in my life and I am completely fine with it he always says “eat 3 meals a day and you’ll be fine my girl”. Another obstacle is the fact that none of my parents know that I am a bulimic they probably think I am doing great recovering from anorexia and that everything is great with some tiny slip ups here and there. I am not about to confess anything any time soon. I could easily go the therapy route easily and in secret but I am on my mum’s medical aid and she would know If I went to a doctor or anything and I am not sure if therapy or some form of counselling is covered by medical aid but I am sure it’s not covered. If not covered I don’t have the money, either way I feel unless I confess I will always be in this same spot.
The secrecy doesn’t exactly kill me, I feel guilty of course but I don’t lie awake at night thinking about my big secret.. my family don’t know I am bulimic. I tried telling my mum once, I started off by saying how to this day I don’t feel comfortable with my body and that I would give anything to go back to 2010. (2010 in my family is the word we use to refer to when I had my relapse with anorexia, the worse of the worst of all the relapses I have ever had. The doctor told me that my BP was so low I ought to be in a coma fighting for my life) After I told my mum about wanting to go back to 2010 she flipped and I could not tell her more, how could I.
I will find a way to get the help I so desperately need. I have to learn to be self-sufficient, I feel like my decision to study further was a bad one. Maybe if I had seriously looked for a job I would not be this dependant on my mum, I could probably work my arse off taking extra shifts and pay for my own therapy without divulging information to anyone. In theory it all sounds doable but in practice I know myself, If I were to make the decision again I would choose studying further because I hate reality, being out there working and struggling. I love to have it easy but it makes me dislike myself because I know I am capable of doing great things by myself for myself but I can’t seem to get over myself.