Firstly, if you accidentally stumbled onto my blog in the hopes that I will tell you a step by step plan on how to be bulimic, you’ve come to the wrong place for that. However, I think you should stay. You might find that you really don’t want to know the answer you’re looking for.
I’ve decided to tell the story of my eating disorder. Trust me, I’m not bragging. Well… okay. I am a little. I made it through and I have every right to brag about that. The real reason I’m writing this, though, is to give a little insight for the random numbers of people who may find themselves intrigued by such things.
It started slow enough for me. When I originally joined Weight Watchers, I lost weight like no one’s business and was doing well without even trying. I was in my early twenties and it was like a cake walk. I cheated on the program, and had my alcohol and treats, and still lost 2 lbs a week. In 8 months I lost 68 lbs.
“That’s it!” I thought. “I must be cured of being fat.” If that’s any indication of my mental view of my weight…. I should have known then.
I quit WW and put about 40 lbs back on in the blink of an eye. So I re-joined. “This time, I want to lose even more.” Like it was the amount of weight that I lost before that helped me put it back on, I figured that I would lose even more this time to distance myself from who I was when I was fat.
I did all right at first. Not great. Not bad. But, all of a sudden, I was slowing down. Nothing I seemed to do helped. I’d be up. I’d be down. I couldn’t break a plateau for about 2 months. It was maddening. So I asked for help from a veteran WW leader and friend. She recommended that I “burn at both ends”, which basically meant that I should work out twice a day. One intense workout in the morning and a shorter, easier one in the afternoon. So I did. 5 days a week, with 3 of those days being 2-a-days.
This had an effect on my weight loss. I was going down again. It also had an effect on my mood. That was going down, as well. I found that I was, suddenly, putting my workouts first above anyone and anything. I was grumpy. Okay… it wasn’t just grumpy. I was bitchy. And God save us all if I didn’t lose what I wanted when I weighed in. The whole world had to pay the consequence.
My husband told me, in no uncertain terms, how horrible I was behaving and asked me to stop. And I did.
But that’s when it started. I was already going crazy. (**Side note… I lovingly refer to this time in my life as my “crazy” time. I feel like, since I was diagnosed, I have every right to call myself whatever I want. My apologies to anyone with mental disorders. This isn’t intended to be insensitive.)
So, I was already falling into craziness. Since I couldn’t burn extra calories by working out (mind you, I still worked out 5 days a week, just not the two-a-days), I started cutting back calories. Just 100, at first. Nothing dramatic. And I saw results. Still losing, I kept that up for a little while.
One week, despite my attentiveness and dedication, I didn’t lose anything. Now, for a normal person, it would be easy to dismiss that as a normal occurrence. But I was crazy, you see, and didn’t see anything normal in it, at all. It was like I was waiting for reasons to increase my dysfunction.
And so it began. Week by week, a little here and a little there, I’d cut back. Making it that, eventually, I was eating only 600 calories a day, on average. I’d have more on the weekends, when I was furthest from my weigh-in. By the day before my weigh-in, I’d be eating 300 calories. Sometimes less. Sometimes just barely more. And I had all sorts of rules about what I *could* eat:
No processed foods. No alcohol. No sodas. No caffeine. No salt. And absolutely nothing after 6pm.
I was bitchy. I was tired. I was determined. I was beaten.
And I hadn’t even hit rock bottom, yet. That was still to come.
Stay tuned for more of what I like to call, “Crazy Town: The path to and from Bulimia.”
My public service announcement: If, in fact, you did stumble into my crazy post, and you are even *thinking* that this sounds like you – stop now. Call a friend. Call a therapist. Call a helpline. Call someone. Tell them that you are struggling and you need help. I wish I would have thought, then, that I was on a road to no where.
If you found this post because you were looking for ways to up-the-ante with your disordered eating; you’re not alone. I looked for ways to get better at being bulimic, even though I didn’t know what I was looking for. Get help. Click on this link to the National Eating Disorders Association and call the toll-free helpline.
And check back with me. I’ve got more story to tell, and you need to hear it.
Be well, dear readers.