Having bulimia isn’t like having other addictions. It isn’t like being addicted to cocaine, which you can walk away from and, after some withdrawals, be done with. It isn’t like smoking, where you can detox the nicotine from your body and finally be free. You can’t run from food. Food is necessary, and it’s never going to go away.
And, excuse my language, I’m pretty damn sick of it. I’ve had bulimia since I was about fifteen years old. It’s been six damn years of having a messed up relationship with food. Six years of being “the fat girl that can’t control herself.” Six years of this constant struggle, constant yo-yo dieting, and constantly being exhausted. So I decided to be done.
This blog is going to be a very messy story about recovery and my life afterwards. My life as a paramedic, girlfriend, nature-lover, and anything besides a bulimic. This blog isn’t for you, though I guess a small part of me wants it to help someone sometime.
A few quick things before we begin.
- I work in EMS. This means I swear, quite frequently and colorfully. Not about to change that now.
- Realistically speaking, nobody will ever see this blog. It might be safest that way. So please forgive me if the writing isn’t the highest of qualities.
- No lying here. Absolutely none. I will tell every story with 100% truth. That’s going to lead to a lot of stories you don’t like, and that’s okay.