⌈Trigger warning; eating disorder⌋
I was 10 years old when I first pushed my fingers down my throat. It was the first time I forced my body to puke, when I became addicted to the feeling. The feeling of control, the pain in my throat, my stomach tightening, the pressure that causes vessels to burst creating little bruises. The feeling of pure exhaustion. I was 10 when I got Bulimia Nervosa. I knew it’s hard to keep it a secret, especially at my age. My parents looked after me. So I needed a solution. I didn’t want anyone to ask why I’m doing what I was doing. I didn’t want to tell them, that I felt like a boy instead of a girl. I didn’t want them to be angry. So I starved myself when I knew it’d be harder to not throw up. It went well. Everything worked out. And it held back my puberty.
It took them 3 years to find out about my eating disorder. It was the time when throwing up every once in a while wasn’t enough anymore. I got bullied in school, I didn’t have any friends and I wished to not be noticed since all the attention I got was negative. I started cutting my skin. That was what made my parents realize that something was going on. I didn’t want to talk. I started therapy. Several times, never taking it seriously, always lying, pretending. They asked me why I was starving myself, not knowing that I threw up as well. I tried to explain, I thought “Maybe they will understand” but they didn’t. I told them how much I’m disgusted by my own body. And how I especially hate my chest, hips and basically everything that developed throughout puberty so far. I didn’t tell them about my hate for my genitals. So they told me and my parents that I’m scared growing up, that I want to stay a child. And they sent me to a mental hospital. “They’ll never understand me. Never. I have to live like this.”
So I started to pretend even more. I used a lot of makeup, wore dresses and skirts all the time and aggressively told everybody how much I love being a woman. They believed me. They all did. Without a second thought. But things didn’t get better, they got worse.
I was 16 when I was diagnosed with chronic depression and Bulimia Nervosa. And I remember how much I missed being in the community. I was Pro Ana ever since I was 11 just because they looked up at me and they thought I was a boy. Online I was the boy I should’ve been. But most of the people I liked either died or decided to stop, so they recovered and disappeared forever. There was no place for me anymore.
It wasn’t until this year, being 20 years old, that I came out as transgender. Why didn’t I tell anyone sooner? Trust me, I regret it. I wish I’d have just screamed it out loud. Crying for help. I wish, because then I could’ve stopped pretending sooner. I already could be were I want to be. I could be the boy only I can see. I envy those around me who are so much younger, already taking hormones, waiting to be 18 so they’re allowed to get their surgeries. I envy them so, so much I started hating them. I know that’s wrong, but I can’t help it. I can’t hang out anymore with anyone either being bulimic, anorexic or simply younger than me and taking hormones.
And I miss my bulimia. I’m trying to recover for the sake of my transition, but it was a huge part of my life for 10 years already. I purged 30 to 60 times every day for years. I never was heavier than 97lbs/43kg, being about 5’2/156cm. The weight is not the problem. I swear. It’s my body, it’s the fact that the more I weight the more feminine I look and I’m terrified of that. I tried to kill my feminine body half of my life.
I don’t know how to deal with anything negative in a normal way. I know I need to learn it, but it’s incredibly hard.