The Bulimic Saga
A tale about a young woman who recently entered the world of bulimia. To her, it’s just “Aiding her weight loss plan”. “I don’t have an eating disorder. I’ve got this under control.”
A tale about a woman’s journey through pain, acceptance, and revival.
WordPress Weekly Writing Challenge
For this week’s creative writing challenge, tell us about what health means to you. Have you struggled with an illness, physical or emotional?
Part 1: The Usual
She leaned over the toilet seat as she gasped for breath. The smell of her own puke, however, was aggravating her initially self-induced nausea. She stood up carefully and flushed what was once her dinner down the toilet bowl. She could feel tears streaming down her cheeks – standard after-effect of throwing up. She moved to the sink and washed her han
ds, avoiding her reflection in the mirror. She bent down to rinse her mouth out – removing any reminders of what she’d just done. She took a deep breath and stood up straight. Her reflection didn’t shock her anymore. Her eyes were slightly red due to the tears. She looked tired. Throwing up made her feel tired.
It also made her lose ten kilograms in six weeks so she couldn’t complain. She wiped the tears away and forced a smile on her face. Her teeth were still white, which was a relief to her. She’d read enough of the horror stories that came with “bulimia”. She, however, was not bulimic. She didn’t have an eating disorder. Well, that’s what she kept telling herself.
“If I had an eating disorder then I’d know,” she’d always tell herself. “Besides, I’ve only been doing this for a couple of weeks.”
She patted her shirt down, made sure she looked alright, and left the bathroom. She forced a bright smile onto her face as she returned to her table of friends. Someone had ordered wine and it looks like the girls were on their second glass. Her glass was already full. Her mind flashed. Alcohol on an empty stomach? She decided to sip it slowly.
“Sorry about the delay ladies,” she smiled. “Had a minor make-up situation.”
She casually searched her friends’ faces for any hint of suspicion. She found nothing. She was relieved. She was proud of herself. She was always discrete with her after-meal activity. If she was at home, she’d wait until everyone had gone to their rooms. She’d down a litre of water and expel all of it – and her meal – into the toilet bowl. No one had suspected a thing. Why would they? She was Ms Sunshine. The woman without a problem. The woman who looked good with curves. She hated her curves. Lord knows that she hated them with a burning passion – but no one knew that. There was only one person who’d become suspicious.
Her best friend, Yazmin. Yazmin had come to visit after months of travelling. She took one look at her and fired a series of questions.
“Why’ve you lost so much weight?”
“Are you starving yourself?”
“When was the last time you ate?”
She’d managed to fend off the questions with an incredulous laugh and a load of reassurance. She took a sip of her wine as she remembered her words.
“Me? Starve myself? Never. Yazmin, you haven’t seen me in so long that’s all,” she’d reassured her friend. “I’ve only lost a couple of kilos.”
Technically, she hadn’t been lying. She wasn’t starving herself. She’d eat normally and calmly proceed to upchuck everything she’d ingested. Her conscious prickled.
What? She contested it. I wasn’t lying. I just left out a little information.
She wasn’t fazed by her “habit”. She had it under control. She’d stop when she was ready to stop.