I was only thirteen years old when I started to deem myself fat and put myself on diets. The "popular" girls were all really thin. They were gorgeous to me. They were what I strived to be. Counselors kept preaching to our classes that everybody comes in all different shape and size, but I didn't listen. My mind strived for "perfection", which to me, was being thin.

When I was fourteen, my little brother would call me fat. He was eleven at the time. I know he never intended to do the harm that he did. I forgive him. He would constantly call me "fatty". Innocent enough, right? I remember one day when we were at my uncle's house. I had a plate of food which my brother kept commenting on.

"Wow, fatass. I don't think you need that much food. Save some for everybody else."

I tried just ignoring him. I tried just simply not reacting to him. I got up and went to another table.

He followed me over. "Seriously, stop eating so much, fatass! You don't need it!"

I started to feel shameful and disgusting. I even went to sit next to my mother and he got up and followed me over. He kept whispering to me about how fat I was. I couldn't take it anymore. That was when my bad eating habits really started. I put myself on a diet of only 1,000 calories a day. I would go for long walks, workout, and do anything I possibly could to get the majority of the calories off. It lasted for about two months and, surprisingly, I did lose some weight from it.

The weight eventually came back to me. My boyfriend broke up with me and I was pretty hurt by the breakup. My low-calorie diet got pretty tough at that point. I was sad and craved comfort food. My motivation went down the drain. I found it harder to eat so little and exercise so much.

After that, my weight started to fluctuate. I wasn't happy with myself at all. I felt ashamed of myself. I hopped around from diet to diet, hoping to lose weight.

I was alone one Friday night. My friend canceled our plans and I felt lonely and sad. I started to crave comfort food. But I had already eaten for the day. I couldn't afford to eat again. I just wasn't motivated enough to exercise. I was too sad. I didn't watch TV much. Surfing the internet didn't occupy my mind enough. Okay, fine. I decided that just one cheat day couldn't kill me.

I went crazy on the comfort food. When I was done, I started to freak out. I would have to exercise for hours just to rid myself of the extra calories! I did get on the treadmill for a bit, but I just got so bored and didn't want to anymore. I had zero motivation for another workout. I didn't know what else to do. That's when the idea of purging came into my mind.

Just one time wasn't going to kill me. I just couldn't become addicted to doing it. That's what makes people have health problems and die.

Well, that's what I told myself. The reality of it was that I just felt so satisfied when I got all of that excess food out. I weighed myself and found that I weighed even less than I did in the morning. I felt so powerful. I was able to eat whatever I wanted and all I had to do was purge - then it was all gone!

I didn't tell anyone about my little secret. Eventually, my mother found out. She told me that if I didn't stop, she was going to take me to get help. I simply found better ways of hiding it after that. Only two of my friends knew about my secret. The more people who knew meant the more people who cared. More people caring meant more people trying to push me into getting help. I knew I needed help, but I didn't care. I fucking loved the how powerful I felt after doing it.

My stomach felt weird sometimes. I started to get horrible headaches. My head would hurt so bad and I'd see dots that looked like flies whirling around. I got dizzy, too. I also would get so tired after I purged. One time I fell fast asleep in my mother's bed after doing it. I didn't even remember falling asleep. People kept telling me about how much it would harm me, about the bad side effects, etc.

I didn't care. I knew what it was doing to me. I knew what it could do to me in the future. I would much rather die skinny than be fat.

I got into a relationship which helped me to ease up on the purging. I started to look at myself in a different light. Surprisingly, even after he left me I kept that positive attitude about myself. It is a good thing, although it didn't completely stop me. It only helped cut down on the behavior. I was doing it once, maybe twice a week at that point.

I am getting help for it now. I also eased way up. I do it about once or twice a month now. My therapist and I are trying to change that number to zero. The thing is, I just feel so vulnerable to it. Bulimia really fucked me up and did a beautiful job of brainwashing me into wanting perfection. And that's just it. I don't want to just be skinny. I want to be perfect.

However, I don't want to be the kind of perfect where everyone looks at my body and says, "Wow! You look great!" I want to be the kind of perfect where I look in the mirror and see what I consider as being sexy. That's why it never works when my boyfriend tells me how perfect I am and how much he loves my body. It never works when friends and family tell me that I'm skinny. I don't care what anybody else thinks. I only care about what I think about myself. It has nothing to do with being shallow. I am far from shallow. I just strive too hard for "perfection".

Something that once made me feel so powerful only makes me feel weak now. I feel disgusted at myself whenever I relapse. It's still a work in progress and I am working so hard to stop. Some day I hope that it goes away forever and fades away from my mind. I don't want to remember this vulnerable chapter of my life, but I probably always will. It affects me every single day. I beg of you, if you ever consider doing it, please don't. Don't even do it "just once". You are lying to yourself. I promise you, it is never worth it.