Bulimia

Sunday is by far the worst day of the week for me
I've hated Sundays since I was a child
Back then it was the day before going back to school
And as I grew older it was the day before going back to work
In fact I think that Sundays are worse than Mondays in a lot of ways
For me now Sundays are usually dedicated solely to binging and purging
It's the only day that I am here at home alone
So I have free reign to self destruct to my hearts content



I walk my dogs in the morning
An extra long walk so they're nice and tired
Then I pile them in to my little car and we head for the shops
I usually have in mind exactly what I want to buy
But more often than not I'll just pick up whatever looks good
I'm trying very hard not to shop lift food anymore so I begrudgingly pay for my shopping
I say begrudgingly as I hate paying good money for food that won't go to good use
It's literally flushing money down the toilet
I had a surreal experience last week
I was in a supermarket with my Dad and I was paying for my goods at the counter
I had a few bags of crisps and I gave the check out lady one of them to scan and told her I had 5 in my bag
My Dad said to the woman jokingly 'Are you not going to check her bag? She could have any amount in there'
The woman laughed and said 'No, not at all, she has an innocent face'
I was dying inside because the truth was I had a lot more than 5 bags of crisps in my bag
How ironic......



I make sure not to forget to buy a big bottle of 7up free
All the better to purge with my dear
I head home
It's like being blinkered
I have one aim
To get home and wreak havoc
To get the buzz of eating forbidden food
And then the high of having it leave your stomach
All the while safe in the knowledge that I won't gain weight

I arrive home
I put all the food away
Mentally working out the order in which I'm going to eat it
I make a cup of tea
Drink it with a cigarette
And wait
Wait for my mother to leave
She usually goes out between 1pm and 2pm
I clock watch as she gets ready
Counting down the minutes
She comes in to say good bye
'Light a fire if you get cold' she says
She always worries that I'm cold
I wait until I see her car leave the drive
And then?
Let the binge begin........



I choose food that takes a short time to prepare but a long time to eat
First up is usually chicken curry with jasmin rice
All washed down with plenty of 7up free
I don't eat at the table
I eat cross legged on the living room floor
I eat in a certain way
Each mouthful is carefully selected for maximum enjoyment
I keep the salt beside me at all times as I'm a salt junkie
I'm already heading to the bathroom as I'm chewing the last mouthful
In that moment nothing could stop me from getting to that bathroom
The house could be burning down around me and I'd still make sure I got there
What happens next is not pretty
It's not glamorous
It's not romantic
It's messy
It's disgusting
There's a reason it only happens behind locked doors
The vomit comes up quickly
It's food covered in foamy 7up
Over the years I've learned to be quick and quiet
You never know when you're going to be interrupted
I've always thought that purging is such a violent act
It's self harm in such a graphic way
I can only imagine what damage I am doing internally, forcing food from my stomach
As I'm cleaning up I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror
I look like a crazed maniac
Blood shot eyes
Water streaming from them
Vomit on my cheek
My hair stuck to it
I quickly look away
As if doing so made it all disappear
I tidy myself as best I can
And head to the kitchen for round 2



When I'm binging and purging I don't have one big binge
It's more like lots of little binges
I guess technically they're not binges at all as they're normal amounts of food
But to me it's a binge
I don't know why but the food never tastes as good as I think it will
I eat slowly and carefully
And back to the bathroom
The day follows this pattern
Binge, purge, binge, purge..........
Kitchen, bathroom, kitchen, bathroom.............
I start to wrap things up at about 5pm as I know my mother will be home soon
I get rid of any evidence of the day
I burn food wrappers in the fire place
Make sure all the dirty dishes are in the dishwasher
When my mother arrives home I am sitting in the living room as if it never happened
I am the picture of innocence
After the days events I am drained
All I can do is lie lifeless on the couch
Only moving to have a cigarette
I feel nothing
No emotion
Just empty
Numb
Dead inside
I vow never to do this again
I promise myself that I won't waste another minute to this cruel illness
But then I say that every Sunday