Addiction

I thought going to group therapy would be a good thing. There would be other women there that could relate to what I was going through, we’d be able to share without judgment and support one another. But the group I joined wasn’t like that at all.

There were 8 of us and the therapist. We were all in our early twenties, living in NYC, working at fancy jobs. And by fancy I mean the kind you have to dress up for every day and pretend you’re fabulous while working for some big named company. Yes, I did that. The entire group did that.

The eight of us sat in a circle in the center of the therapist’s posh upper east side apartment. She probably had an eating disorder herself, now that I think about it. Don’t most people that get involved with eating disorder therapy? Anyway, the actual format of the group is fuzzy in my memory. But what I remember most is how we all checked each other’s clothes out, sized up each other’s waists, and really could have cared less when each other spoke. It was a weekly gathering of eight women that were competing to be the best and most successful bulimic. (I was the winner, if I do say so myself) We each took turns speaking and trying to top the person before us. I ate more, I threw up more, I’m sicker than you, blah blah blah.

Pretty pathetic.

The truth was, none of us wanted help. Yes, in theory we did. If we went to group it was like saying “hey, look at me, I AM getting help. I can’t help it if I’m STILL throwing up!” It was permission, permission to continue with our madness. Oh, and did I mention that the therapist never ever picked up on that?

As a matter of fact, before I met the incredible psychiatrist, Dr. R, that eventually helped me into recovery, I had a habit of telling as many lies as possible in therapy just to see if that particular doctor could tell if I was lying. And out of many, many doctors, Dr.R was the only one that ever called me on my bullshit.

Secrecy is a bulimics foundation, everything revolves around protecting the secret. In the beginning, its not just about not wanting anyone to see you binge and purge, its about power. I know something you don’t know. I know how to eat whatever I want, whenever I want, I am in control and you are not!

I had once tried teaching a friend how to throw up after she begged me for my “secret”, but she couldn’t get past the gagging. “You’re just not strong enough” I snarked.

It’s this false sense of power and security that the bulimic thrives on, and is constantly chasing. Like a drug addict searching for the next fix, I was always wanting that euphoric moment when I felt like I had the answer to all of life’s questions. Being bulimic was my salvation.

But over time, the euphoria is harder and harder to reach. What once took only one or two binges a week, became six or seven a day. It was exhausting.

There are a lot of theories about why people end up with eating disorders. Heredity, brain function, body image issues, abuse…I believe them all. We are all different, living unique life experiences and I don’t believe there is just one answer.

What was my answer? Sexual abuse.

I was sexually abused by a family member when I was 8.

The details aren’t important, as I’ve already gone over them extensively in therapy. But what is important is how dramatically these events fueled an inner self-loathing that I didn’t even know was growing and that later manifested itself into bulimia. This is not a woe-is-me, please feel sorry for me piece, but rather a ways for me to help people understand that eating disorders are about so much more than the physical act. Whether it be binging & purging, starving, or over eating, that’s not what it’s about. And there is no one answer.

That’s all I have to say tonight.



Comments/questions? Jacqueline@Fitarella.com or Twitter: @Fitarella