I out the blue decided to measure myself today so I stripped naked and dug out the tape measure buried in my underwear drawer, I was hesitant naturally and kept thinking to myself I didn’t have to do this because it would break my heart but I went ahead anyway. I have lost a couple of centimetres on both my hips and my waist and this is the result of purging. Some days you’re lucky you purge most of what you binge then you restrict some days you aren’t so lucky, your body will refuse to purge or environmental circumstances will prevent you from purging properly and you’ll retain the food and it’ll show.
Bulimia requires dedication, if you are going to binge then your purging has to be vigorous or else you’ll gain weight no doubt, most times I never purge everything out though I’d want to but I don’t want to push my luck. Those final desperate panicky shoving of fingers down the throat when purging could be what could kill me, like playing guitar on the same old fragile strings that could break at any point in time.
I have never mentioned this before partly because I have never wanted to accept it myself because it’s too frightening but my paternal grandmother died of throat cancer. Surely I am tempting fate perpetuating this horrid act of purging when I have read stories of bulimics who got throat cancer. There is history of throat cancer in the family, studies claim bulimia causes throat cancer, I am at a high risk of getting it even without bulimia because of genetics but here I am. In a way I think that type of thing would never happen to me, I feel so far removed from it all but it’s reality and it’s there and it won’t change.
I feel sick to even type this but days ago I got so tired of carrying on with life with all these burdens on my back I started to visualise what it would feel like to die and how exactly I would do it, the idea of drowning seemed appealing to me and in my imagination I was this ethereal being drowning in the bluest waters and I thought to myself how amazing it would be to just let go and leave all the sorrows behind, the mere thought filled my eyes with tears.
Some people aren’t meant for this world, I know I am not but being conscious of that fact doesn’t mean that I should just check out because I am here and here is now… here demands to be lived and felt, I owe it to myself and to the almost 23 years that I have wandering on this earth. I just wish I could heal from depression, it sucked out all the colour and it didn’t stop there it seeped into every aspect of my life to the point of it being that third person in a relationship.. any kind of relationship with a friend, a parent, a (potential) boyfriend or anyone really. Some have walls from being hurt that prevent them from entering into romantic relationships some of us have mental illnesses. I can’t imagine letting someone into my empire of dirt. What do I have I have to offer besides bullshit jokes, there might just be a thing such as being too unhinged for romance.
I wonder how much space a human heart can have given as I harbour all of the emotions. It gets tiring trying to radiate sunlight when you communicate with positive people, you can’t just be your usual depressed self because they will leave but that forced happy exterior is a major façade that you cannot keep on for long before you have to expose yourself for who you really are and then you depreciate right in front of their eyes or despite all your flaws and imperfections they love you regardless. I hope that one day when the time comes to tell the one I will come to adore of the cocktail of mental illness that plague me, I just hope they’ll choose to stay.