The pressure of life is an obsession that never seems to disappear.
There is a strong yearning throughout my body whispering to me that I must be the best, the prettiest, the smartest, but most of all the skinniest. When I look in the mirror I see a fat girl trying to fit into her little sisters jeans. People are always telling me how skinny I am but they don’t know the struggle that is killing me a little bit more everyday.
No one notices how I go to the bathroom right after I just ate enough food for the whole African continent in one sitting. I feel like a prisoner in my own body.

How did I turn from the skinny little no worries girl to a fat girl who is just concerned with whether or not I can fit into the size 00 jeans sitting in the back of my closet dying to be put to use? I hate how I feel pressured to eat and then bring it all back up. The Doritos, Cheetos, and ding dongs all come up like the water show at the Bellagio in Las Vegas. My brain is telling me to not throw up and at the same time telling me how fat I am. My parents are oblivious; all they see is their perfect teenage daughter ready to take on anything the world has to throw at me…little do they know.

My teeth have become thinner and you can almost see through them. I judge people to make myself feel superior. How I would die just to make my arms the size of my thighs. I hate how when I walk my thighs rub together, like a poor family huddled trying to create warmth in the dead of winter. I look back to the good days when I wore a size 6… in little girls. My legs were tiny and full of muscles. How did that turn into big fat cottage cheesy thighs?

Most people think bulimia will never affect them, but even at the best time of your life it will rear its ugly head and bite you. The first time it happens you think nothing of it. But then it just continually nips at you, and ejects such venom that makes you feel full of such bliss. After a few minutes the venom stops and the feeling of ecstasy achieved earlier is gone and guilt is now knocking and waiting for me to open the door to my mind. I’m scared when this happens, but I need to be in control and feel something, so with arms wide open, guilt jumps into my lap and gets comfortable. No longer empty, I think about what I have just done. I know it’s wrong. I try to stop my self, but when things don’t go my way I need to be in control of something. I lecture on and on about the affects of bulimia trying to shine the light on someone other than me. No suspicion is best. I like this secret between me and myself.

I used to think getting over eating disorders were easy. I realize that they aren’t. It destroys all your hopes and aspirations making you think that you are worth nothing in this world. It ruins not only my spirit but my body too. Who am I to let this thing control me? What happened to me? I hate this cycle but somehow I love it too. The thrill it gives me is like nothing in the world. I pray to God to help me stop, but I just can’t. My life is full of expectations from different people and I try to please the important ones, but never trying to please myself. I never have let anyone push me around so why am I letting this beast push me around and control my every thoughts and moves? Who am I?
Will I ever know again?