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Hiding my Purging and the Constant Concerns About the Facilities
Within twelve months of my first purge, I had worked hard on my self-induced vomiting technique so that I could easily manipulate my muscles and expel the contents of my stomach in a matter of seconds, without the need to ram my fingers down my throat or tickle the uvula at the back of my mouth. I merely had to bend forwards over the bowl and it would happen instantly, with minimal effort.
To some, this may sound like the perfect skill to have to facilitate weight loss or allow themselves to eat whatever they want without the physical effects of binging and/or consuming ‘forbidden’ foods. But in truth, it was the worst thing I ever did, and it wasn’t long after I first made myself sick back in 1994 that I would have done anything to take it back.
If only I had known how far my eating disorder would go when I turned to anorexia and purging as a solution to my weight issues, things may have been different. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought I’d end up spending an average of £1,000 a month on food that went down the drain, frequently sticking my hand down toilets, or eating scabs off my head and wax out of my ears.
Ironically, one benefit I felt from my seamless purging was that it helped relieve some of the stress around keeping my awful secret hidden, because it reduced the time I needed to spend in the bathroom. I felt reassured that others would think I had just been for a pee, when in truth I had deceived each of them without giving it a second thought.
As a result, my biggest post-vomit angst shifted from the physical act and speed of regurgitation to the mechanics of the toilet, particularly with regard to the type of cistern, how long it took to refill (should I need to flush more than once), and the force of the water when the chain was pulled. I felt far less stressed in situations where I had used the toilet before and could trust it would do the job.
In contrast, if I was somewhere new and the facilities were unfamiliar, my stress levels would go through the roof from the uncertainty of how I would be able to hide the evidence should I need to rid myself of any unwanted calories. To ease this, I would immediately head for the facilities to check out the toilets and the quality of their flush.
My eating disorder made me a neurotic mess, where I lived in a constant state of anxiety and fear that contaminated my entire life. I spent every minute fixating on ways to get rid of food through purging, desperately trying to think one step ahead and conjuring up an array of contingency plans in case of an emergency.
Shamefully, it was these backup options that led to me sticking my hand down many different toilets over the years, and that forced me to stoop to the level of vomiting into sanitary bins as a guaranteed means of protecting my toxic relationship with my eating disorder. Unfortunately, the mental torment that came along with it overshadowed any possibility of enjoyment in anything else going on in my life.
Over the years, I also became an expert in the ‘flush-ability’ of various foods, which dictated my menu choices on many occasions. Some foods flushed well; however, oily sauces like tomato-based pasta sauces and curry sauces leave a residue that is difficult to remove without cleaning products. They are also very colourful, causing staining around the bowl. Ice cream and thick milkshakes float and require the help of a toilet brush to break down the slimy, airy texture so that they dissolve into the water.
The worst were dense, heavy, sticky foods like jelly sweets, other confectionery, and stodgy bakery items that would sit at the bottom of the pan, resistant to flushing water no matter how powerful the flow. At these times I had to guide the waste around the U-bend by activating the flush and then quickly lowering my hand into the toilet pan to physically encourage the food matter into the waste pipe. The water velocity often contained just enough force to push it up and around the bend.
It frustrates me to think that my life revolved around prioritising an eating disorder, where food, weight, and shape became my one topic of expertise. What I could have done with the time and energy I devoted to my ED makes me extremely sad. But it is what it is, and I am now very proud (and shocked) to be able to say that I have finally moved on and spend my time doing things I enjoy that mean so much more to me than any eating disorder.
In a place of recovery, I can honestly say that I have come to value my life and myself as a person, which is something I NEVER thought possible. I pinch myself every day to confirm this is all real, because living a life no longer ruled by an eating disorder was once only ever a dream and a fantasy. But how wrong was I?
It turns out recovery was a possibility all along. If only I had seen my eating disorder for what it really was and realised it was constantly twisting my thoughts, feeding me lies, and using anything it could to keep me close, I could have woken up and smelled the coffee years ago, retaliated, and committed to letting it go long before now.
Today I look back at my younger self and grieve over the lost years I spent dedicated to anorexia and bulimia. And if I am honest with myself, it was a complete waste of my time, energy, and money that tainted my entire world. It was never my identity, but an imposter that poisoned my mind and made my life miserable — but it didn’t have to be that way.
Going to social events and meeting up with friends and family is now something I look forward to. I no longer worry about the facilities or my menu choices, because there is nothing to hide.
I previously lived in a constricted bubble with just me and my eating disorder, but freeing myself through recovery has given me the chance to build a new life — and one I value and cherish.
Breaking out of my eating disorder cocoon was terrifying, and one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. But it was worth the risk and has changed my life for the better.
