In Purgatory: The Daily Life of a Bulimic

The word "purge" is derived from the Latin word "to purify." When Dante wrote of purgatory in The Divine Comedy, he described a process of purifying sinners, of cleansing souls so they could ascend to heaven. And even though this antiquated myth of redemption has faded from modern theology, it lives on in today's eating disorders.

Bulimia is primarily defined as purging to compensate for eating and prevent weight gain. Common methods of purging include self-induced vomiting, over exercise, laxatives and diet pill abuse. Which is harmless enough, right? A couple pills here and a little throw up there doesn't seem that bad. Until the harmful behaviors spiral out of control and become a daily routine, relegating the bulimic to her personal purgatory.

Before I went to treatment, my days were very simple. Start each morning on the scale. Eat a small breakfast and try to keep it down. Because maybe today will be different, maybe today the cycle won't begin again. But by noon I rush home for lunch. Weigh myself, eat, weigh myself, throw up, repeat if there is time. Back at work, I try not to eat in the afternoon. I don't want to be caught vomiting at the office, but sometimes it's inevitable. After work I go straight to the gym and exercise for two to three hours. Pick up food on the way home. Spend the rest of the night trying not to eat, inevitably eating, then throwing up. I continue until I'm too sore and raw to go on. Finally I take a sleeping pill and lay in bed listening to my heart, wondering if it will give up, scared yet hopeful.

This never-ending punishment finally pushed me to seek help. Many people envision a certain romantic purity in eating disorders. But I promise there is no romance in bulimia. It is painful and dangerous and disgusting. Though I found comfort in the pain, and the dangers seemed justified in my diseased mind, I could never block out the knowledge that I was doing repulsive things. I spent hours each day with my head in a toilet, shoving my hand deep into my throat, gagging on the mix of stomach acid and fermenting food. My face was swollen, my throat was bloody, my knuckles were raw. There was never beauty, there was never perfection, there was only shame and sorrow.

In the recent UNC/Self study I referenced before, 31% of the respondents engaged in purging behavior. The Renfrew Center Foundation estimates that 25% of college aged women and 14% of gay men purge to lose weight. For millions, these extreme dieting measures turn into full-blown eating disorders. But are a couple pounds really worth a life in purgatory?