Photos by some guy the author knows.
Bulimia’s fucked up. I just spent a week doing it to see what it’s like, and I don’t understand how those bitches survive.
For seven days, I felt like I was a second away from fainting, and I mostly did eating-disorder-related activities such as lying in bed and complaining, calling my friends to talk about how fat I am, and shitting out cancerous-looking substances.
Let me walk you through my week…
DAY ONE: It’s my first day with bulimia nervosa. I wake up early and run to the gym. I starve myself all day. I can’t watch TV—all the ads are making me hungry. It’s cold out, so I stay home and chew gum and read grocery-store fliers.
At around 7:30 PM, I speedwalk to the nearest grocery store. I buy a thing of Reese’s ice cream and five chocolate bars. I feel like everyone knows I have an eating disorder, even though it’s all in my head. No one gives a shit what I buy.
I am barely back in my door before my entire face is stuffed with chocolate. I walk in, get in bed, and eat the ice cream with a makeshift chocolate-bar spoon. I eat the whole tub.
Thirty minutes later, I’m bent over the toilet with my right hand shoved down my throat. It will not work! Then I remember a show where this bulimic puked herself with a spatula, so I shove my roommate’s toothbrush down my throat and jiggle it around back there and then BRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAWWWWW the entire universe blows out of me. Or at least a bunch of chocolate does.
Then I feel sick, like flu-sick. I drink some water and feel better. It’s incredible—I do feel thin, and still full. Bulimia works!
I congratulate myself and don’t flush. Looking at the mixture feels great. I DID IT.
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