I threw up earlier today for no reason. I didn’t do it on purpose. I hate being sick. It hurts. I don’t just mean my stomach hurts. I mean it hurts all over. My skin tightens up and it feels like a thousand needles are being pushed into my back and chest and arms all at the same time. My muscles contract and ache afterwards. I thought for a moment today that I might have pulled a muscle in my arm, it hurt so much. That’s one reason why I could never be bulimic. How on earth people manage to make themselves throw up regularly is beyond me. I know they get good at it and train themselves to hurl on demand, but don’t they get that pain? Is it just me? Does anyone else get that needle-like pain all over their upper torso when they’re being sick? Not to mention the runny nose and streaming eyes. And heaven help me if my bladder is full!
I tried bulimia once about 18 years ago. Ever since I gave birth to the manchild I’ve been underheight… or as other people like to call it… overweight. I’d had enough. I knew I didn’t have enough willpower to stay off the crisps and chocolate permanently so I thought to myself “Aha!.. I’ll be bulimic! I’m sure I could control it. I’ll stuff my face with all the lovely yummy goodies and then throw it up so I won’t be fat anymore and people won’t look at me as if I’m not good enough.” A perfect plan! Or so I thought…
I went and bought a delicious lemon meringue pie and decided I would eat the whole thing, because if you’re gonna do this then you need a good amount of grub inside you, which I assume must be why bulimics binge eat. I did. I swallowed down the feeling that I was doing something wrong along with each bite. I just pretended it wasn’t there. I ignored the guilt of eating a whole pie on my own, comforting myself with the knowledge that it would be gone soon and I wouldn’t have to feel bad about it.
Well, flip me. Have you any idea how hard it is to throw up when you actually want to? I had to get something long and thin to make it happen cos I wasn’t gonna put my fingers down my throat. My OCD doesn’t like me getting my fingers mucky. I hunted around and eventually found a comb, one of those hairdresser ones with the long, thin handle. The comb and I assumed our positions! And after what seemed like forever, I finally succeeded in my mission.
As I kneeled there on the bathroom floor, staring at the lemon meringue pie slowly drowning in the toilet bowl, all I could think was ‘What a waste!’ I felt so deflated with the whole thing that I never did it again. My relationship with bulimia was over as soon as it started. It really was a quick fling.
I’m currently still underheight.
Kalamity K 🙂