A Skeleton Out of My Closet

Does anybody know this person?

I do.

This was me in my teens. I used to BE her some 14 years ago, although I don't remember BEING her. I was severely overweight. At 16, I weighed in (at my heaviest) at around 130 lbs. (note that I'm only 5'1"). I decided to finally lose the weight when I was 19. This was when I first met my future husband (even then I knew in an instant he would someday be mine). He wouldn't throw me a glance and I couldn't blame him.

I went on a (near) starvation diet. I ate a single pack of Lucky Me pancit canton and ate half of it in the morning and saved the other half for lunch. For dinner, I'd have nothing but Skyflakes and orange juice.

I lost over 30 lbs. in 6 months but not without a price. I had bruises all over my legs and my arms, my hair was falling off, my nails chipped, my skin was really dry, I was super cranky, and my soul, depleted.

Losing the weight was the easiest part. Keeping it off however, was the most difficult.

At 100 lbs., I should have been satisfied, but I wasn't. Instead I felt a need to eat more. I became a voracious eater. I remember feeling scared because I did not want to gain a single pound of the weight I've already lost.

I developed a habit where I would eat to my heart's content, then a few minutes later I would rush to the toilet, face the water closet, stick my fingers (later on my hand) into my throat and then regurgitate everything I ate.

Yes, I was bulimic.

I recall that in one sitting I could gobble down loads of spaghetti, chicken, chippy, chocolate bars, then later running towards the bathroom. I remember feeling a certain rush whenever I did that. It felt exhilarating at first, it was as if I had control over my life. Then I'd feel tired, exhausted. Then feelings of guilt, shame, depression, sometimes even anger would start to set in.

At my thinnest, I remember tipping the scales at only 82 lbs. My Mom and my siblings called me 'soup bowl', because my collarbone was so pronounced, they said they can pour soup on it. At one point, my mother nearly had to carry me out of bed to bring me to a shrink. Even Prozac wasn't enough to help me.

It went on, unnoticed by some, but known by nearly everyone closest to me including my husband. He knew because there were 'signs' I left (unknowingly) behind. Like the smell of my hands, the stench of acid left in the bathroom, the marks on my hands, and the watery, bloodshot eyes.

I used to own 2 weighing scales to constantly monitor my weight. I would weigh myself 3 or more times a day. As if that wasn't enough, I even took diuretics and diet pills.

It went on even during my pregnancies. In order to leave something for my unborn child, I would eat what I call 'markers'. I called certain foods 'markers' because I would vomit until the moment I see them just to provide a little nourishment for my baby.

I felt guilty especially when my second child came out really frail. I felt like I was such a terrible mother and I did not deserve them. I felt shame, disgust, guilt, sadness all at once. But that wasn't enough to stop it.

In 2004 (I was already 27), I was still on my usual routine of bingeing and purging. One day, while I was vomiting, I felt as though my small intestine was being swallowed whole by my stomach. For a moment, I felt my heart stop and I was unable to breathe.

From that moment on, I went cold turkey.

I do not recall ever fearing death. Even at this moment I do not think I am afraid of it. If there's one thing I love about mortality, it's that we have one great equalizer.

It was the thought of my children (then aged 5 & 2) becoming orphans at such a young age that scared the hell out me.

And then destiny. We usually go to Punta Baluarte in Calatagan during the weekends. That weekend, however, they were closed due to management changes (I think). We eneded up going to the resort nearby, Lago. That was when I discovered wakeboarding. Wakeboarding gave me a rush, the kind that didn't make me feel guilty afterwards. It served as an outlet that helped me discharge all the hostility and aggression that I used to aim towards myself.

Of course a very good shrink (my dear friend Vince), and a very stable support base (my husband) were also crucial.

After 8 years of misery, I was finally liberated. It's been 3 years that I have been freed of my tormentor.

Why am I telling you this? I know 2 people very close to my heart, suffering from it. They never said anything, they don't have to. I even tried talking to them (separately, of course) about it. Apparently, both are in denial. The signs cannot be missed.

So if a single soul gets touched by this message. Then I did my part.

I hope you do yours.


P.S. Currently, I do not own a weighing scale. I am bulimic no longer. Last I weighed , I was 94 lbs. Whether I'm heavier or lighter than I once was, I don't f***in' care. It really doesn't matter. And I've never been happier...............