Kim Shipton
Anorexia and bulimia nervosa are traumatic eating disorders experienced by alarming numbers of adolescents and young adults. Eating disorders are sometimes caused by the fear and shock of sexual abuse — a method of escape from overwhelmingly distressing emotions. Females also face high expectations on appearance, with a constant stress on beauty, dieting and body shape.
Absorbed in their own world, often perfectionists, anorexics often devote their energy to study and sport, and cease to have any sort of social life. The bulimic may want help, but fears the "freedom" of her compulsion being taken away. Bulimics and anorexics can recover, but never part with the experience. By KIM SHIPTON
I wake up to the thought of breakfast. There is ample time to eat before I have to go out. Scanning the pantry, I choose cereal, thinking that there was still time to stop myself from eating too much. Cereal is a normal person's breakfast. But before I can think, I have reached for more than a normal person's serve.
At this moment, it is as though I have become a machine. I am not thinking of what I am eating. It just tastes good, it is a good feeling to eat, and it all has to be done swiftly.
After eating three bowls of cereal and drinking a lot of fluid in between (this to make the food come up more easily later), I move on to something tastier, something fattier, something I would dare not eat if I were intending to digest it. After stuffing down nearly a loaf of bread, smothered with butter and jam, I move on to something else, until my stomach physically can not support any more — until it has swollen to a bursting globe.
Then I make the dash to my shameful home: the bathroom. I turn on the shower and the fan to camouflage the heaving noise.
Sometimes the food comes up without difficulty, especially if I have eaten something less obtrusive than toast. After years of experimentation and continual bingeing, the food usually comes up automatically. I no longer needed to put my fingers to the back of my throat.
But this is a difficult morning.
I reach for some toilet paper, scrunching it into a ball and placing it at the back of my throat. My stomach heaves and the relief of ridding the contents is unexplainable. Looking at the mirror, I feel exhausted and ashamed. My face is swollen and red and tears roll down my cheeks from the forcing effort. I notice how fat my face is and inspect the bulge beginning to hang under my
chin.
It is always the same. I swear I'll never do this again. I get ready and rush out, saying goodbye to my aunt. I wonder whether the thought has even crossed her mind of what I am doing, or whether she notices the amount of food I eat. It is so difficult being "normal" in front of her. I must be doing a good job for her not to notice. The thing which really worries me is that I feel so uncomfortable around others as well.
Later, after the stress of being around people, I feel a need for escape. I had vowed this morning that I'd given up for good, I'd sworn to God that I was ashamed and asked forgiveness, praying for help to stop.
Walking past a patisserie, I switch to machine mode once again. I become another person. I obtain a new identity and with this false and deceiving character, I glory in the sickening sweet amounts I'm about to eat.
"I'll have six caramel slices please." I observe the server for any suspicious glance. Handing me the bag of goodies, she says: "Anything else, love?" Looking at the display, I pretend to be remembering the orders my imaginary friends had given me. "Oh yes, could I have a piece of cheesecake and a few of those cookies, please."
Smiling, she mentions the price and I hand over the money, for which I feel no guilt. But by the end of the week, I'll feel a profound depression over the amount I've spent on food.
At first I savour a few caramel slices. Then I simply stuff the rest into my mouth. I sit on a bench wondering if anyone is watching. I wish the shop assistant had refused to serve me. If anyone attempted to stop me from throwing up all that I'd eaten, I'd just die.
I continue on to a deli. Now that I've started, I may as well go all the way.
I rush to a public toilet and repeat my disgusting act. Someone comes in. I stop until the flushing of a toilet hides my heaving noise. I wait until the person leaves and then continue.
I know all the locations of public toilets.
After about half an hour inside the toilet, I walk out with lipstick on, chewing some gum. At home, I have no desire for dinner. I walk in to my aunt's home to the aroma of a meal. I greet her in the kitchen. She smiles and stirs the contents of a pan. "Hello darling, have you eaten today?"
Those seeking help for anorexia or bulimia can contact the Women's Medical Centre in Macquarie Street,
Sydney (02) 231 2366, or the Women's Health Advisory Service (02) 331 5014, or contact women's health services in your state.