Bulimia: My Eating Disorder Story

Hey there and welcome back to Growing Pains, where I get into the struggles of young adulthood.

The reason why I’m on Growing Pains instead of Life, Unfiltered (where I normally post more personal stories) is because as I’ve shared my blog with friends and acquaintances, I’ve realized exactly how widespread and devastating eating disorders are among young adults.

I’ve had many friends read my posts on my struggle with bulimia nervosa and message me saying they never realized I dealt with an eating disorder, or they knew and just didn’t know what they could do for me. I’ve had several more friends open up to me about their experiences with eating disorders and disordered thoughts. It hurts me so much to imagine these people I love so much have been going through this illness completely alone.

I know that words are my greatest asset. They always have been. I’ve used writing as an outlet since I was a child. Now I’d like to take it a step further and use my words to spread awareness to a wider audience. Eating disorders kill. They damage every single aspect of your life, take away opportunities, ruin relationships, and very slowly, your body deteriorates. 

I know my story isn’t unique or special in the slightest. That’s what makes me so sad: there are too many stories exactly like mine. Too much suffering and pain, and so many cases begin so young. According to Johns Hopkins Medicine, the most common age of eating disorder onset is 12-25 years old.

To get into my own story, I will preface by saying that while my eating disorder began in earnest at around 13 years old, I began certain disordered behaviors much, much earlier. I remember pretending to go to the bathroom to spit out my breakfast at around 7 years old. At 9, I experimented with my first attempts at purging. And at 11, I began consistently skipping meals.

Beginning in middle school: I was lonely. My home life was a wreck, I was bullied often, I had very few friends and I was just so unhappy. By then I had already been self-harming consistently for three years. I noticed how a lot of my peers didn’t eat breakfast or lunch, so I figured that was the secret to happiness that had eluded me for so long. About two years and very little weight loss later, I was finishing middle school.

At the time, I was around 13 and I hated being home. I was anxious and vomiting often due to panic attacks relating to school and my home life. I lost weight quickly because I could hardly hold down any food. I just felt horrible all the time.

I realized then that I liked being skinny. It brought me sympathy from friends, family, and mentors. I felt safe and secure in myself for the first time in a long while. My panic attacks were how I officially discovered purging.

I spent my freshman year at age 14 restricting and purging. I was miserable and I was so ill. High school began in 2020, during COVID-19 lockdown. I had PE from home and took that as an opportunity to excessively exercise. When we got back to school in-person, I remember seeing my reflection in the glass doors of the gym. I could hardly recognize myself. I was weak, sick, and thin, and I hated it. But I continued, because I felt that the weight loss gave me worth.

I honestly don’t remember being 15 or 16. Those years were spent in a starving, malnourished daze. I was dizzy and so, so confused and lost. I often forgot directions to my classes and I forgot my schedule. I even remember a time I couldn’t think clearly enough to spell out my name. I remember being humiliated often in symphonic band when my band director asked me to play a few measures but I was stuck in my hungry thoughts and didn’t process what she said. I spent so much time sleeping, allowing responsibilities to pile up and school assignments to go undone.

My heartbeat was so slow and labored. My bones ached and my stomach was constantly on fire. I didn’t need to purge anymore because I had purged so much I could hardly hold food down anymore. I remember a day that all I ate was 6 cashews, 2 saltines, and half of a sugar-free lemon Vitamin Water. And it makes me absolutely sick to recount that I was so proud of myself.

I remember reading a news story online of a girl that died of potassium deficiency caused by bulimia nervosa. By then, I had given up all hope of recovery. I figured I’d soon follow in her footsteps. I still think about that story often. I think she was 15. I often think about how unfair that is.

I promised myself that when I turned 17, I’d turn myself around. And I did for a few months. I was recovering, eating three full meals and three snacks a day. I began drinking unsweetened green tea instead of my usual coffee to be “healthier”, and I decided to begin doing light cardio. Very slowly, it fell apart and my attempt at recovery became a front for restricting. But my body loved all the calories and care it was getting, so I began a binge/restrict cycle. Purging soon followed as my gag reflex began to come back.

By the time I turned 18, I was a crying, raging mess. I was so hungry all the time but I would have a meltdown if I ate 10 grapes for lunch without purging. I became paranoid that my family was buttering my bread behind my back or serving me more pasta when I wasn’t looking. I was so defensive over my morning black coffee because I was so afraid that my mom was sneaking sugar or milk into my cup. I constantly argued with my family over food.

I remember my dad made a gorgeous roast with salad and rice and when no one was looking, I stuffed my serving into a garbage bag and hid it under my bed until I got the chance to throw it away. That night, I spent hours doing hundreds of sit-ups until I felt I had earned a bubblegum flavored lollipop as my dinner. I often wasted perfectly good food that I was incredibly privileged to have, and I still feel so guilty about it to this day. 

I was purging about 7 times every single day at this point. I skipped so many classes in high school because I was locked in the bathroom attempting to choke up the lunch I only ate so my friends didn’t suspect anything. I purged at prom after I went out for dinner with my friends. I purged at band concerts, at breakfast with my family, at birthday celebrations. And I was so, so hungry. With the purging, binging, chewing, and spitting, I felt so dirty and disgusting, but I just couldn’t bring myself to stop.

Fall of 2023 was audition season. I was dead set on becoming a high school band director; these auditions were imperative. I practiced for hours through the raw sting in my throat and the crushing pain in my chest that resulted from purging so often. I was a perfectionist. I needed to rank high otherwise I was a disappointment, I wasn’t worth anything. I cried during clarinet lessons over my calorie intake for the day. I felt like a failure, but I brushed it off, telling my teacher that I was crying because I was frustrated over the piece we were practicing, or a scale I had forgotten. I even forgot about lessons altogether because I was so tired all the time. I refused to eat my tiny dinner until I had a perfect practice session. I punished myself with starvation. It got to the point that I could no longer play my clarinet without nearly passing out.

I made the Regional Honor Band that year and I began lying to my psychiatrist, my family, and my doctor, claiming that I was recovering so I could take antidepressants. I was so miserable; I thought the pills would fix me. I was completely numb by that point. I couldn’t muster even a fake smile throughout my entire concert with the Regional Honor Band, nor for my senior photoshoot. I had begun self-harming again and it was the worst it had ever been. I hoarded bandages and medical supplies as much as I hoarded food, and I hid bloody t-shirts and tissues under my bed the same way I hid my food and purging bags.

The week before Christmas, my head was spinning and my heart was incredibly weak. My chest was in so much pain, and at that moment, I intended on telling my parents to take me to a hospital. I was dying, I knew I was. But I wanted to wrap my sister’s present first. It took me nearly two hours through the pain, the nausea, the dizziness, the pounding in my head, but I did it. Then I curled up on the floor and slept. I honestly didn’t have the strength to move, though my bed was only two feet away from me.

That was when I realized I needed to come clean. I decided I needed to quit clarinet in order to properly recover, and it broke me. Music was my world, and I felt like a failure for the months that I didn't play. But I did it anyway. Recovery took nearly a year, and every moment was agonizing.

I was so selfish throughout my eating disorder. When friends and family tried to help me, I lashed out and pushed them away. I cried at the table, at home, even at restaurants. I ruined so many special occasions simply because my family wanted me to eat. Upon recovering, I had so many apologies to say. Much like a recovering addict, I made amends with family and many of the friends that chose to stay in my life despite everything.

2026 will be the first year since 2018 that I eat a full portion of my family’s Easter ham. This coming December will be the first Christmas that I don’t purge our traditional Salvadorian meal. My 19th birthday was the first birthday in a long time that I ate as much cake as I wanted without restricting calories the days before in preparation for it.

When I was in high school, I used to literally cry at the thought of ever weighing over 95lbs. Finally passing 100lbs was a huge milestone for me, and I celebrated with a slice of chocolate cake! I don’t weigh myself anymore, but the day I saw the scale reach 130lbs during a checkup with my doctor, I freaked out, then realized how much happier I’ve been. Things are not all perfect, but I now can take pride in nourishing and strengthening my body. 

I’ve done my best to portray an accurate timeline of my ED story, but of course, my memories of middle school and high school were greatly impaired and disarrayed by the malnourishment. Much of the contents of this post was pieced together from my few notable memories, journal entries, and the few attempts I made at documenting my experience in the moment. I almost certainly failed to touch on a few very pivotal instances in my eating disorder journey, either on purpose or simply because they slipped my mind. I could write an entire book talking about this phase of my life, but I wanted to write a condensed version with the purpose of showing the ugliest parts of suffering from an eating disorder.

As I’ve said before: my story is not unique in the slightest. But I hope that regardless, my message of recovery and happiness after an eating disorder can reach the people who need it.

Recovery is real, and everyone deserves freedom from food.

With so much love and hope,

Alexandra