I Lived a Self-Destructive Secret for 30 Years. Here Is What Happened When I Said.

Bulimia and I have been best friends for 13 years.

At that moment my parents were arguing and anger engulfed our house. I was a shy immigrant kid at school, hoping someone would see me.

But I had a wonderful time every day after school when my parents were not at home and I had my own home. It was then that my friend and I sat and watched our favorite show – Three’s Company, Love Boat, Fantasy Island – and ate whatever we wanted, without dazzling eyes. Ham and cheese sandwich on soft white bread, a handful of freshly baked potato chips and soft, chewy Toll House chocolate cake.

The problem was that the high levels of food we ate eventually disappeared and we were stuck in a hangover: shame, guilt, frustration. At age 15 too much food was not enough, I had to cope with the consequences: bloating and self -loathing.

One day I went to the bathroom and put two fingers in the feed. Scary but also exciting. I got some relief. The results varied. The desperate need and its violent destruction are just memories.

Bulimia comforted me, celebrated with me, made me happy. He is always there no matter how difficult and he knows how to improve it.

This secret became a part of my life for the next three decades. Thirty years of desperate heights and devastating declines. Thirty years of hiding behind bathroom doors and locked showers to suppress the sound of vinegar. For thirty years I stared at a man in the bathroom mirror of a Turkish bath that I didn’t like. For thirty years I was afraid that someone would understand the strange ritual that had become part of my life.

One day when I was 44, I told him.

For years I thought of quitting smoking because of the intense anger I felt towards him, and I slowly eliminated it by spending time in between housekeeping over several months.

Another reason I wanted to quit was my horrible acid reflux. I began to feel a burning sensation in my throat and was nervous that perhaps in my years bulimia had damaged a muscle designed to prevent the increase of bile.

So when the doctor asked me at the annual checkup if I had any special concerns, I told him about the sore throat and added that I was nervous because it was because of my bulimia from my years.

“When did you become bulimic?” churches.

“Oh, I…” I stopped, took a deep breath and said, “I still am. It has been like that – for most of my life ”.

To my surprise, he didn’t look at me with disgust or regret, nor did he tell me how he had damaged my body. He doesn’t even teach me. He told me that millions of people have had acid reflux and it may have nothing to do with my bulimia. He then asked directly about my plans, if any.

I told him I was doing it and what to say it was my first big step towards surrender forever. It gave me the resources I could use and the organizations I turned to for help. He then continued to check on me, as he had done many times before.

We were only a few minutes apart, but I shuddered at the loud expression of the words. Because of the admission, I almost fainted and had to hide the pages of faux leather chairs. I’ve kept this secret for so many years that when it came out, I felt like a different person.

That night I can only say. This time, I told my wife, a quiet and kind man that I had slept with and raised children. We hugged on the couch and watched “Brooklyn Nine-Nine” when he asked me about my doctor’s appointment. I sighed, turned off the TV and turned to her. Then I told him.

I told him about the years I spent locking the bathroom door and opening the shower that I couldn’t hear the sound of vomiting. I can’t afford to risk it and wonder what’s wrong. I told him I was afraid that when he found out who I really was, he wouldn’t look at me. Love me.

I cross my hands. Shocked and heartbroken, the woman I shared a life with has this secret, this pain, I kept for a long time when I cried on her shoulder.

His words changed everything. Without a secret, I was able to release the embarrassment and stop one element of clutter: cleaning. I didn’t apply to any organization and I didn’t read any books. The fear that the sore throat might be due to dirt and revealing the truth to my husband was enough to deter me. I have never done this before.

Pleasure – high – is still part of my life, albeit reduced. I found a way to avoid the urge to get busy. When the cleaning part was over, it freed me from the “easy talk” I use whenever there is a need. I went back to work, which I loved, took long walks with friends, and my life was full of mom’s duties. I started living without the constant choking of bulimia.

Then a pandemic broke out. And like millions of people, he too was thrown into a dark and difficult place.

My husband and I gave the kids their rooms for an online school. The only office-like space was left to my husband, who needed space to grow in this work team. I stayed at the kitchen table.

I lost the job I loved, the normal daily routine of doing homework and dating, and the friends I could be with who helped me live a healthier life. I was stuck in the kitchen with a laptop and countless hours of worry and anxiety being inactive. He looks like an alcoholic living in a bar.

So I ate and ate. And I put on a lot of weight. But it wasn’t the weight that damaged my self -esteem and my mental health. It was a donation to this old friend – who I no longer trusted, who I realized I had no good intentions of – every day I was losing trust.

Two years later, when the pandemic subsided, I found myself at all, but I was more irritated and scared of progress.

Eating disorders are unusually difficult because we cannot completely give up on food like other medications. And there’s a huge embarrassment that comes from not being able to control your diet. So we don’t like talking about it, we don’t get big payouts and obviously we don’t have the same sympathy.

I realized I was just going to keep going when I stopped fighting the silence and let go of my embarrassment.

So, as during the cleansing, I began to be honest with myself and others close to me. Over dinner one night, I explained to my wife and teenage children that weight loss difficulties were not related to the diet itself – which is why the dozens of weight loss programs I tried failed. Also, it’s about my relationship with food, my habit and my eating disorder.

Once I was able to express this truth verbally and I received it, I was able to reduce the cure and eliminate his pain. A few days later, for the first time in my life, I joined the Overeating Disorder group and I am now learning tools from consultants who specialize in this disorder.

I don’t know how long it will take to progress, but I know that in order to get better I must first forgive myself and be honest that I can’t progress on my own. This is the only way forward.

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If you are having difficulty with an eating disorder, call National Association of Eating Disorders Hotline At 1-800-931-2237.