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The Most Difficult Thing I’ve Ever Written

Hey girls, it's me. You know, your regular straight-forward-talkin' broad. And I'm here to tell you about my friend.

She is the worst friend in the world. She lies, steals, cheats, tells me things that will only make me feel bad, tries to ruin all my friendships, schoolwork, family life, and anything I ever cared about.

Her name is bulimia.

Eek. One of THOSE articles. Where I go on to list the facts and figures and tell you how to avoid this horrible disease b4 it gets u 2.

Here's the straight-talk. I hope you and your worst enemy never meet this horrible friend of mine. I hope you read this, think I'm crazy, and click away.

But I know some of you won't. Because she lives in so many of us. Maybe you don't puke up all the food you eat, but you might deprive yourself of it, or overindulge, both of which I am prone to.

This article is hard to write. I am forced to come to terms with the fact that I am sick, I am not in control, and if I continue my life may not ever go the way its supposed to.

But I'm scared. I feel trapped. What do you do when the only thing that makes you feel better makes you a public mockery? Every time I try to put those jeans on, regardless of the size, it's always a shame. I stare at girls thinner than me, blatantly. I just want to feel like I belong in my skin and my skin belongs to me.

In Los Angeles, girls, it doesn't. Your body isn't yours. People have bought and sold your image so many times over that you may NEVER know who you really are. That is scarier than any eating disorder. Because these are "disorders" not "solutions." Even in the hospital, did I ever meet a "happy anorexic"? Heck no. We're all miserable.

I write this as I eat two pizzas and chicken wings. I feel disgusting. But I will ignore it and keep eating, keep filling up that big empty void inside of my heart where nothing seems to stick. Love, lust, work, achievement, it's all temporary to this soul.

I just want to go running again, without thinking about how I am a failure. I just want to stop watching Man v. Food over and over again, until I know all the words.

Bulimia is not living. This is not life. I have isolated myself from everyone and everything I ever loved.

I come to tell you this story, this struggle of my face in a toilet bowl for over 8 years, not to garner your sympathy. Sympathy hardly cures puking up everything you eat out of guilt. It's a warning. It's a message.

Hear me USC: You do not have adequate mental health resources. You do not have a good organization for eating disorders. I know you have your "Healthy Body Image Group" but let me tell you, this bulimic would not be seen at a group like that. Why? Oh, maybe because I'm publicly outing myself as having no control and being the "fat girl" at the eating disorder group. You need to change USC.

My therapist told me that every 3 or so years, the Row must change the plumbing in the sorority houses because the vomit destroys the pipes. This is not okay. We are not okay. I'm done pretending we are. Help us. Please.

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