My Eating Disorder - I Had a Problem with Food Essay example -- Person

My Eating Disorder - I Had a problem with Food Every wiz wanted to see me get fat, I was sure of it. For at a time in my life I had some semblance of control oer my dead body in a way no else did. Managing my body took crystalize and I was not going to have anyone interfere. I sat crouched in the small space between my parents bathtub and toilet, the cool white ceramic tiles reflecting the blonde of my hair, the tears that somehow managed to eke out of the eye ducts were streaming muckle my hot, mucus slathe blood-red face. In the corner behind the toilet, the dog hair swirled in little eddies, and the rim of the toilet had faint speckles of urine, unnoticeable to anyone not at eye level. The shower was on and the fan running as a distraction. Every once in awhile I would knock a bar of soap into the tub with a heavy thud or set a bottle down hard enough so that anyone listening at the door would be fooled and actually think I was in the shower. I used to vomit in the shower, tr availing the chunks of forage and bright colored foamy mucus down the drain, but one night, in my hurry to clean up, I had not been able to push a slice of pickle down the drain grates and my mother put up it. Pickles, raw vege tabulates, and spaghetti were the hardest foods to fit down the drain.As I basked in the blear afterglow of my purge I tasted the blood, sweet and thick as it trickled down my pharynx and knuckles. Lately there had been more blood and my knuckles were forming bright red raised scaly patches, scarring over in thick nubs from the constant scratch against my teeth. After a meal or a drink I would wait ten agonizing minutes until I could leave the table and say I was taking a bath. Locking myself in the whoremonger I would run the water, hover over the toilet... ...awed its way into my mind. For every apology food made to be eaten, and every moment my emaciated tummy begged to absorb it there was an even louder voice in me that told me to deny it. in th at respect was a constant battle raging food and my physical body on one side, my brain on the other side, telling me I was weak, fat, and a slob. The fear of food was only one small affaire to my anorexia. Although other emotional issues catalyzed my anorexia, starvation simply a manifestation of my deeper mental problems, the fear and anxiety I felt around food was the approximately accessible avenue to understanding and explaining my condition. To admit my fear of food was not only a starting point from which to begin recovery, but it was as well as a point of personal acceptance, finally admitting to myself that I had become a prisoner in my own body, cowering from the voices screaming in my mind.