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I sit here waiting for my so-called boyfriend to actually show up. The wind is slightly blowing, yet I feel comfortable enough to be without a jacket. My bladder alerts me of its need to be relieved, so I make my way to nearest unoccupied restroom. Upon entering, I look at myself in the mirrors, which of course have yet to be cleaned by the janitorial crew, and for some reason I am disgusted with the reflection. A billion questions cross my mind.
Why didn't I notice that my stomach bears no resemblance to a washboard, nor that my thighs aren't slim and trim like those of a model? I am usually in control of my life and every aspect of it, yet my weight is a part of me that takes its own course. The smile that always fills a room with a brightness unlike any lightbulb leaves my face and it is replaced with a frown. I close my eyes and I walk to the stall behind me, making sure I am the only one there. I see someone in the toilet water looking back at me and I wonder why she is here.
Slowly I bring my fingers to my mouth and rid my body of its ugliness. The process itself takes but a minute, and as I return to a standing position, a wave of relief washes over me. The stall which at first felt as if it was closing in on me now allows air to circulate. I take a deep breath. What I had just done felt like the most natural thing in the world. I can't explain how refreshing it is to rid yourself of the one thing that makes a you unhappy.
In my case, it's food. I walk out of the bathroom feeling different, but in a sense the same person. What I have just done isn't wrong, since it does make me happy. I tell nobody of my little habit except my closest friend, and I make her promise not to tell a soul. I can see the disappointment in her eyes as she begs me to stop, but she knows the situation is out of her control. I also know somewhere deep inside of me that I am driving a This routine society chooses to name Bulimia continues for two years with complete success, at least in my eyes.
My junior year is filled to the brim with jubilation and good fortune. I am excelling in all of my classes, our cheerleading squad is absolutely awesome, my boyfriend and I are celebrating our second year together, and I can fit into basically anything. Life can't possibly get any better than this. I look at myself in the mirror and admire the person looking back at me. It amazes me how much of a difference twenty pounds makes.
It is this year that I plan to give up the purging cycle, and begin the road to being normal again. I eat the food in front of me, enjoying every Why do I feel gross? My stomach slowly expands because there is food present, although it may just be my imagination. I realize that my habit is now an obsession that I cannot overcome, at least not right now. I run to the bathroom and solve my problem the only way I know how -- by throwing up.
What scares me is that my body already rejects the food so all I have to do is simply bend over and let my reflexes do the job. I need help but I'm the only one who can stop it. My heart is pounding louder than a set of conga drums. I am ruining my own life and hurting others in the process. It has taken me over two years to take action into my own hands. What I am doing is wrong, yet it is much too late to reverse the damage.
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Research essay sample on Food Make Year
