bulimia - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
I need to feel that this world wants more than a sickly doll of pallid complexion, so thin that the body hangs downward, cowering to gravity. This bulimia, it's a distraction that consumes me body and soul. In this punishment I exist rather than choose to live and love. They say you need someone to love you before you can love yourself, shouldn't that have happened when I was a baby and young child? I guess daycare and nannies aren't love, are they? I know Mom did her best, Dad too, but who can choose to stay home and love their kids these days? Who can build that self esteem in when the adverts and constant pressure to conform keep stealing it away? They say "fitting in" and "belonging" are opposites. That when we belong we are comfortable to be who we were born to be, to express ourselves in beautiful and unique ways. Me? I'm so desperate to "fit in" that I vomit, feeling that putrified acid in my mouth, tasting it as it corrodes my teeth and my sense of self worth alike.
Bulimic and fat, that's me. I'm so dumb I can't even get starvation right. I'm supposed to be svelte right now, a coat-hanger for fashionable clothes. Instead I'm two sizes bigger than I was just last year, and with teeth like an old horse. I have more gastric reflux than I knew was possible and my mood hangs me over more darkly than winter cloud.
I knew I was messed up when bulimia started sounding like a solution, when induced vomiting was more attractive than just being myself. I wasn't really fat, just not skinny enough, so I tried it. I'd already tried not eating at all and failed, gorged myself on pasta and pie. So it really seemed like the answer, feast and purge. I imagined love coming my way, boys casting admiring glances. Then Selina bagged the boy of my dreams and she's two dress sizes bigger with curves like on hour glass...
Bulimia was a bullet. She stowed it for protection, to enhance her chances of survival in a world hell-bent on the thinness of women. It lodged in her brain all the same, a cute "trick" that came to be her master.
Kyla smiled, receding gums pink and arched against yellowing teeth. Tom took in her gauntness, the sickly lack of colour in her face. Her hair was wane, so dull compared to how it had been when she had curves. The smile he sent her back was colder than she'd ever received from him before - not because he loved her less, but from the sadness of seeing her so reduced.
The other girls check their waistlines for fat, I don't need to anymore. I know from the way my knuckles bulge on my fingers that I am skinnier. They eat like pigs at recess and lunch and then complain about their weight. Not me. I eat dinner every night and only what I can't bring up stays down. Some bulimics aren't as light as me; I guess I'm stronger willed. I see them eat and I feel powerful. I look at the supermodels and know they're fatter. I guess that makes me the winner. What's my prize?
She sat in the midst of a sea of candy wrappers and empty pasta bowls. She had binged on every carbohydrate she could lay her hands on. Now all that was left was the self-disgust and loathing, She ran to the bathroom and jammed her fingers hard down her throat and the vomit surged out of her. Once she felt like she'd purged as much as she could she went to the cupboard and took the laxatives. Then she went and looked at her sallow-skinned, dehydrated reflection in the mirror. She examined her gums, receding and damaged from all the refluxing stomach acid. She could already feel the depression descending on her mind like a black fog.
It all seemed so simple at first. She could have all the sweet food she craved so long as she vomited it all back afterwards. Between those binges she would eat less calories than a malnourished infant would consume. Then in the course of an hour she would gorge on thousands of calories. She kept an image in her head of her favourite super model, she would be thinner. But in reality her body was weak, abused and suffering. Her friends would sometimes drop subtle hints that she should eat a bit more, relax about the calories. But by now she was trapped in a cycle that had her spiralling downwards; starve, binge, vomit, starve, binge vomit. Now this "clever idea" dominated her life, deprived of the nutrition she needed and left her embattled, mentally scarred and unable to think clearly.
Bulimia had seemed like such a clever trick at the start. Eat what you want and then throw up, didn't the Roman's do that to keep feasting? Now it dominated her thoughts. Every minute was spent planning her calories. Each day she had a strict limit, not enough even for a baby. Then when she could stand it no longer the gorging would begin, packing in more calories in an hour than her abused body normally got in a week. Then the surge of panic would send her to bring it back up. She was trapped and the spiral only took her downwards, obsession feeding obsession. Low blood-sugar hindered her brains ability to reason and the weakness in her limbs made her frail. The ever-present sensation of being cold bothered her. When her friends expressed jealousy over her slim figure her anxiety to maintain it was heightened and she would cut her intake for a few days, then binge, vomit, starve and binge.