The Unraveling, Bulimia Part 1

The Unraveling, cumulating with me trying to leave myself bloodless on the floor of my apartment in 2012, has been going on for at least three years. But it really started to make an impact when, in the spring of 2011, I decided to finally be done with pretending to be studying. I hadn’t gone to any seminar in quite some time and mostly used my state as a student to catch free rides on the public transit und work as a research assistant for a really nice and patient man.

The final decision made my bulimia, over which I had at least a semblance of controle up to this point, kick into high gear. As high a gear as I had never experienced before. There came weight loss -23 kilos till Christmas- and with it the feeling of being pretty, of being worthy of attention, of being worthy of love. Some kind of weird self respect was going on there – and of course I liked it! Therefor, in my mind at least, the bulimia became something good, something helpful, something to hold on to. Of course I knew of the dire consequences my illness could invoke over me. But I didn’t care -better yet, I didn’t want to care. In my twisted little way I thought I was making myself a better person by getting thinner. But I kept a a semblance of common sense at least, 50 kilos would be the endzone. If I’d ever slip under that number I would know for sure, that I was not going to beat the bulimia on my own -which I tried halfheartedly since summer- and had to search for in-patient treatment.

Right before Christmas I reached the endzone and that was that. I prepared to talk to my father, about the bulimia, my dire financial situation (bulimia and a then undiagnosed borderline personality disorder can do great things with your debit, let me tell you) and my wish to find treatment. I was so afraid. How do you do it? How do you tell your parent that you have utterly failed in making your life work? As it turns out it’s rather easy if your father has known for at least a month about your illness and has waited for you to come forward. The cowards way out is falling into a dissociative state, trying to hurt yourself for attention and then just blurting everything out there and then. It’s decidedly uneasy to deal with the immense anger that comes with practically being lied to for more than seven years -that being the time I’ve had bulimia and didn’t tell him. He was terrifying as hell. tbc …

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