“I can’t really explain how I felt the first time I made myself throw up. I remember all of the details about it though. I threw up into a trash bag while I was alone in my room, right after I had finished eating a bag of popcorn. It felt wrong, difficult, but strangely satisfying. I had gotten to a point where I really didn’t care anymore. I just wanted to be thin, because to me, being thin meant that I would finally be happy.”
These are the words of a self-confessed bulimic who was practically living a superficially contented life just because she was thin. She would throw up profusely sometimes and would lie down in bed for hours because of exhaustion. In school, though, it wouldn’t take long for her to puke in the ladies’ room after eating her lunch, and then walking down the hallway like nothing happened.