I wrote this as the beginning of a non-existant story about someone with bulimia.
Let me know what you think! Am I being accurate? Does it sound awful?
The tightness in my head and stomach is reaching an unbearable climax- I feel like there’s a child inside of me that’s trying to push its way up out of my throat.
Quickly I close the bathroom door and lock it. Turn on the fan. Run the water like I’m going to take a shower. For good measure I strip my clothes, because things can splatter pretty easily and I don’t want to smell like vomit the rest of the day.
I wet the tips of my index and middle fingers with my tongue, and a moment later I can feel my stomach heaving.
The ice cream’s all coming up, still somewhat cold and sweet. I can see the swirls of vanilla coagulate in the toilet, forming bubbly clouds and floating a few centimeters beneath the surface of the water. Then there’s clumps of bread that get stuck in my throat-I have to make myself throw up twice for each of those. And the smell of rotten cheese next, as pieces of yellow string exit my mouth along with more salty brown sludge.
Acid burns my throat- my cue to stop.
As usual, my hand is covered in vomit boogers and I have to use two pieces of toilet paper to get it all off.
Lid closed- flush.
My eyes are stinging from the purge and as I look in the mirror I can see hints of red where veins (arteries?) are furiously pumping blood.
Everything will go away when I step in the shower- the involuntary tears, the pink flush in my cheeks, the dribble of who knows what on my chin. Only my dry throat will remain, and maybe a headache- yes I can feel one coming now.
I’m too tired to look at myself and see if it’s paid off. I feel thinner, but they say you can only get rid of half the calories you eat by throwing them up.
To be safe, I lift the toilet lid, and sure enough, a few pieces of cheese are still floating there. That’s why you always flush twice.
“And that is the last time,” I croak to myself. Tomorrow will be better.