My freshman year of high school, I was stressed 24/7. I rarely made time to eat, and when I did, it wasn't the best food. Eventually, my stomach shrunk and I could barely finish a burger without feeling nauseous from being too full. I knew there was something wrong when I would get queasy after every single meal.
Growing up, I was always criticized for my weight; being Hispanic I was always expected to be "big in all the right places" to be the perfect amount of curvy. I was sometimes told I ate too much or too little and was never just right. In high school, I realized the lengths some girls went to in order to look good. They went to the gym all the time, waist trainers, diets, skipped meals, and the list goes on.
I became incredibly self-conscious.
At first, I thought I caught a stomach bug, but when it didn't go away after a few weeks I knew it was something more serious. I then came to the conclusion that I was probably sensitive to a certain type of food. So, I began keeping track of everything I ate and tried to find a common denominator... nothing added up.
Finally, I approached my teacher, who was someone I confided in deeply and asked what I should do. She opened up to me and explained to me that she went through the same thing in college; it turned out she was bulimic.
Immediately, I got defensive. Me? An eating disorder? There was no way. I had always thought of people with eating disorders as those who either didn't eat or were incredibly skinny. I was neither.
So, I did what anyone who is too scared to go to the doctor does: I went on WebMD.
It was telling me all these crazy disorders that I never even knew existed, and even somehow linked me to stomach cancer or even appendicitis. However, at the bottom of the list, there it was: Bulimia Nervosa. In other words, go to the doctor.
Which I did. They ran a few tests, and it turns out that I am, in fact, bulimic. I didn't know how to react. Immediately I knew that I had to stay calm and not think it was the end of the world, I just needed to understand it.
I went to therapy, ate smaller portions of food more often (healthier ones too) and tried to weed out my triggers. At first, it seemed impossible and I thought I was going to throw up four times a day, every day, for the rest of my life; which is how I can only imagine everyone else with the same disorder feels at one point or another.
Eventually, I was able to get rid of some triggers and learn to live with others.
It only clicked for me when my boyfriend at the time cried on my lap because he felt bad asking me out to romantic dinners because he didn't want me to feel pressured to eat, or put me on the spot if I got sick soon after. This only made me realize that I had refrained from going out to family dinners or parties because I didn't want to be questioned for my lack of eating, or the weight I had lost. Confrontation was and is something I don't deal with well and I avoid at all costs.
That's when I knew that this wasn't only affecting me, but those I love as well.
However, I'm telling you, don't feel helpless. Don't give up on yourself. At the end of the day, you could be saving your own life.
Most people don't know this, I certainly didn't, but you could ultimately die from an eating disorder that isn't being treated. Your body could fall apart from the inside out and you could potentially lose your life. If that isn't an incentive to at least try to learn to live with it and slowly get better, because it does take a long time, I don't know what will.
This isn't a cry for help, or a "please pity me" story. This is a "don't be scared to take care of yourself" kind of pep talk.
I am bulimic. I am not proud of it, nor do I romanticize it. But I live with it, I have grown with it, and I will eventually beat it. One day at a time.
If you or anyone you love seems to be going through something like this, don't act as I did and try to self-diagnose yourself; seek help. At the end of the day, the sooner you know what's wrong, the sooner you can learn to fix it.
