The Haunting Reality Of An Eating Disorder

A note. Neatly creased square slipped into the folds of my locker. “Fat dyke” is what you called me. But how were you to know. That the second I scoffed down all my food it was already on its way, creeping back up my throat ready to spill into a toilet bowl. Bathrooms are where we cleanse right? So technically that’s what I was doing. I cleansed myself of any nutrients or fat my body retained. I purged out all my self loathing and pity. With every carbohydrate came all the shame I felt towards myself chained to it. You all thought I was biting my nails when it was the acid that emerged from my throat that slowly gnawed away at my once beautiful hands. You didn’t realize that my teeth were so white because I bleached them to make sure no one would know my secret. It was between me and the toilet bowl. Only the toilet would know the shame I carried inside of me- all the pain and anger of hating who I was that I let out of me every time I ate. But how were you supposed to know every time you commented that my thighs were to big that I heard shrill screams in my head that no matter what I did I would never be good enough. How were you to know that every time I weighed myself I felt fat at 30kg. I can’t blame you right? I can’t blame you for the nights that I lay curled on the cold bathroom tiles surrounded by my own tears and a stench of bile. I can’t blame you for the nights my stomach ached and gurgled to be fed. Because you didn’t know. Well I believe there is a saying for that. “Everyone you meet is fighting a battle you don’t know about. Be Kind. Always.”