Health 2 Papers

My name is Maddi and though I’m not proud of it, I am bulimic. I don’t think many people have really noticed, my parents might have, but they haven’t really said anything to me yet.

I’m always hungry and I’d rather eat to try to get rid of the feeling then not eat as much and carry the feeling with me… but it never goes away. I didn’t want to look like I would if I just ate constantly, like I do, so I started throwing up. So there was noting left there. I think that only makes me more hungry though, but I do it anyway.

This whole bulimia thing only started around a half a year ago. I was fighting with my ‘friend’ and she had made a few rude comments. It had made me feel bad about the way I looked, so I tried to change.

I’m the kind of person who eats when I’m depressed, so the whole fight didn’t make me look any better either. I was running out of ideas, so this was my last resort.

Waking up in the morning I’m hungry when I never used to be. I’d eat a huge breakfast only to throw it all back up a little later. Finding something to wear wasn’t really hard either; I guess I never really cared about what I wore. I walk to school every morning, and today’s no different.

I can feel people looking at me, but I know it’s only my friends. The looks on their faces tell me that something is wrong. I get that paranoid feeling. ‘Do they know?’ But I push it away knowing that it’s impossible for them to know, its not something hat you can’t hide… bulimia I mean. When I question their strange looks one says that their dog died and they think the neighbor did it. It didn’t seem like too strange of an occurrence so I just shrugged it off.

Through all of my classes I wanted to eat. In Spanish we were learning how to say certain foods and it didn’t help too much. When lunch finally came around I was hungry enough to eat al of my food and so much more, but I will settle for seconds and whatever people around me don’t want to eat.

By the time I get out of school I’m almost to hungry, the feeling is suffocating me. At least that’s what I’m thinking. So when I walk he half block to my house I go straight to the kitchen. I have to eat some more.

If I start to eat something I won’t stop until it’s gone at this point. For some reason no matter how much I eat the feeling never goes away. Some days I wonder if the feeling is hunger at all. Maybe I’m just tying to confuse myself.

I’m in the bathroom for a while. It’s easier to hide things in there, where you can just flush it down the toilet. I’m done before either of my parents get home.

Stepping out of the bathroom I try to do my homework, but just like in school I still can’t concentrate. I grab a snack from the kitchen and get back to work, though it doesn’t help much. When a few hours have passed and I’ve finish my work I remember when I used to be done with in half hours instead of whole ones.

My mom gets home first then Mark, her boyfriend. My mom stopped wondering where all the food was going months ago, only giving me unexplainable glances when she came home with almost triple the groceries she used to get. Sometimes I feel guilty because she has to spend so much more money on me, but I don’t say anything. I’m still hoping that she hasn’t figured it out yet.

When supper comes around I usually get as big of a plate as I can before either going to my room or to the living room. I eat it at a pace that feels to fast before slowly getting up to get another plate. I think this time I got more than the first.

It gets annoying having to hide my ‘disease’ from other people, but I feel so ashamed having o do what I feel like I have to do. I’m not going to stop if the find out, I’m just hoping they don’t. It would save a few awkward conversations. Some days it doesn’t feel right when I do what I do, other days I just don’t care, about anything.

I throw up again later when everyone is asleep, before trying to sleep. I end up waking up at around midnight. I hadn’t really been sleeping before because I had only been tossing and turning, because in reality I’m too afraid to sleep. I don’t like to be scared. Staying away from scary movies doesn’t help my bad dreams. Half of the time I don’t even remember them.

Eating takes up my time when I can’t sleep and by the time I’m done, I feel like I should throw up again… so I do. I try to go back to sleep, but I can’t and when I get out of bed the next morning the bags under my eyes have grown.

Feeling sick I decided to just stay in bed. Today was going to be one of the days where I only sit there and eat and eat and then eat some more. After I know that my mom is gone I went downstairs to the Living Room, there’s never anything good on or TV so I grabbed one of our many movies and put it into the VCR. It’s an old Disney movie, I think it’s Cinderella.

So I sit there watching my movie and eating. I stop eating only when I get up to get more food or to change the movie. This time I grab a recorded video that has more than one movie on it. It just means I have to get up one less time. Half way through the second movie I pause it so I can go upstairs and purge. Going back downstairs I feel hungry again. It’s an ongoing circle. It’s a cycle I’m finding impossible to stop.

I feel like crying, but hold back because my brother should be coming home soon. I get up and clean up my mess. I take out the movie and put in a new one to make it look like I had just gotten home. I fold the blankets and lay them over the recliner that had been my home today.

Instead of trying to do my homework today I decide to write, but it’s the same story as always. It’s just another cliché only worthy of the trashcan or recycling bin. I smile as I get a poem to sound right.

That night goes on just like the so many before it. I feel like I want a change. I know that I need a change. I know that I’m too much of a coward to even try to do anything else. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me.

My name is Maddi and I am a sad story of a bulimic.