Desperate Remedies

TW: eating disorder; mental health

A mixture of black, white, brown, and yellow foods combined with bile and red blood comes out of my mouth as I forcefully vomit, pushing my two fingers deeper down my throat. I grin as I see the package of Oreos I ate come back up, the half pack of bread with cheese and ham, and Lay potato chips. The food lands in the toilet bowl with a sickening plop, and as soon as my stomach feels empty, I flush the toilet and watch my shame swirl away. 

I pace the room, willing myself to stop thinking of food the weight gain, and the fact that there seemed to be more blood in the toilet bowl than usual. I splash water on my face - and find myself frantic in getting away from food. 

I grab a jacket, my phone, headphones, and my keys and practically run out of the house for a walk, deciding to walk to the nearby park. 

How much will the scale say I’ve gained after I drink water today, I think as I walk? No, focus on something else. I navigate to Instagram, catching up on superficial friends' lives and stories. 

“Cool! Jackson and his wife just had a baby!” I blurt out loud, trying to avoid the fact that the baby looks like a sack of flour. And flour is used in delicious pastries and bread and great, now I’m thinking of food again. I walk harder, faster, as if trying to outrun my thoughts. 

Let’s text a friend to get my mind off of food food, I decide. 

“Hey Clara! What’s up? How are you?” I press send on the text message before I can even re-read my message. Maybe she’d be up for hanging out, seeing a movie, going for a hike, maybe I could come over and spend time with her kids, whatever necessary to take my mind off of food. 

I stare at the phone, willing her to text back immediately as I walk to the park. 

The sign for Green Willows Park looms ahead, appearing bigger and bigger as I walk toward it. The park is huge, with tennis courts, a full basketball court, a large playground area with several swings and three slides, plenty of space for playing soccer or simply lying down with a blanket on the grass, plenty of picnic table areas and BBQ pits, with a paved area on the outer perimeter of the park for running, walking, or biking. 

Two golden retrievers are off-leash, playing with each other, wrestling each other. The playground is full of kids and plenty of parents and guardians encouraging their children to climb up the stairs and come down the slide, pushing them on swings.

Deciding to walk the paved path, I put my wireless headphones in my ears, put on some upbeat music, and begin my walk around the path. 

My mind wanders to my last session with my eating disorder therapist, the one helping me for the past three months to find out a way to eat normally, whatever that may be. So far, we figured out I comfort my feelings with food. And right before my binge, my best friend Sandy - who had recently just gotten engaged - had told me that I wouldn’t be in the wedding party. Her fiance had four sisters and she needed to make one maid of honor and the other three bridesmaids and I understood, right? Her fiance barely had enough friends to make up the best man and groomsmen, but they needed to keep the wedding party numbers even thanks to Sandy’s incessant need for balance. But I was welcome to go to the bachelorette party of course. And I’d claimed of course I understood, and that I’d be available for anything she needed. Then I ended the call, put my phone down, and sobbed. 

Pacing the kitchen, I felt a magnetic pull to the Oreos and bread and chips and whatever else I could get my hands on, feeling like the food could comfort me during the ten minutes I hurriedly ate everything. And then, I immediately went to the toilet to throw it all up. 

“Stupid!” I scream inside my head. I place my hands on either side of my head, trying to drown out my thoughts. 

“You okay?” A guy running the path slows beside me.

“Yes,” I answer. “Just a bit of a migraine. Thanks.”

“Yeah, those suck,” he nods his head and begins running again. 

Walking off the path and heading to a picnic table, I see that Clara has texted back. 

“Hey, gurl! The in-laws are visiting this weekend. Let’s get together next weekend when I have a reprieve from the monster-in-laws.”

Texting back a thumbs up, I think about heading back home, but I’m not ready. I’m still feeling emotionally raw and afraid of the food that still awaits me there. Could I stop eating my feelings?

Walking for hours around and around the path, I turn to my upbeat Spotify playlist and try to ignore my phantom hunger food pain and shaky emotional state. I walk until the sun has set and the playground is mostly empty, the kids and parents mostly gone for dinner. 

Finally, I’m tired and I head home. I’m actually hungry now, and I plan on eating a balanced meal of carbs, protein, and veggies. Then I plan on watching a funny TV show or movie before bed, ignoring my want to binge eat dessert, and I plan on attempting to focus on something else, anything else - except food - until I have to. I write a list of things I can do tomorrow to avoid the need to stuff my feelings with food, and the wanting to vomit them back up. 

Thinking about tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after, I wonder if I can do this. If I can eat three meals a deal without throwing it up, if I can allow myself to feel anger or sadness or grief without the binge eating respite that makes me feel better briefly until I realize I’m ruining my health - physically, mentally, emotionally. 

And I think, I can do this, I can keep trying to improve myself, hour after hour, day after day, month after month, year after year, because I’m worth it. 

Right?