I had a blog once before, but had to delete it because my parents looked into my browsing history and saw other blogs I visited, and I became paranoid that my parents would read it. They think I am better now, so they have no reason to suspect I am looking at blogs again. I'm creating another blog because I need to speak. I need to be heard. I've had to hide my behavior for the past 9 months because everything thinks I am cured. Well, I am not.
My name is Cosmos. I am seventeen years old. I have been bulimic since age twelve. I've been to 7 therapists, 2 doctors, and toured one rehab clinic. However, I remain disordered.
I currently weigh 135 lbs, and am 5'5. My lowest weight was 108, my highest weight was 144. My goal weight at the moment is 120, and from there I'd like to reach 105.
I play competitive soccer, take the highest level classes I can, and pretty much always have a boyfriend. I've been called perfect by a lot of people, smart by even more, and pretty by almost everyone. But, I see myself as fat, stupid, ugly, annoying, and undeserving.
Out of the people I've told about my condition, more than half say I just want attention. But, if they knew me, they'd know that I hate attention. I don't tell people when my birthday is so they don't say happy birthday, so why would I want attention for being bulimic? No one has ever known the true me, and that's because I don't let them. I keep what I don't want them to know to myself, and am an incredible liar. I look so innocent and happy, yet am so evil and depressed. I can make you believe I love you, I can make you laugh with me and share your soul with me, but you will never know what goes on in my head. Unless I let you.
And you, the reader, are going to know. Because I am going to tell you. I am going to let you know how my mind works. You are going to be able to understand me better than the people that walk next to me. So, I will begin.
When I was little, like 3 and 4, I was terrified of men. This includes my father. I would hide behind my mother's leg at church when the pastor walked up to say hello. I'd scream if I was in a grocery store and the male cashier tried to talk to me. I'd run away if a man kneeled down to be at my height. If my father, uncle, grandfather, or anyone else tried to pick me up I'd kick and yelp and call for my mother. But, I slowly let them into my life.
When I was 7, my father was diagnosed with cancer of the bone marrow. They gave him six months to live. He became an alcoholic because he was unable to cope with the fact that he was dying. He withdrew completely from my family, always sitting by himself with his vodka and cranberry juice, listening to classical music while he slowly fell asleep. Six months past. A year. Three years. He was still alive.
The doctors now told him that he might as well live 15 years. He began talking to us again. We went on family trips and went camping, to the beach, to shows, to visit my relatives. But, he never stopped drinking. It was a habit that didn't stop even when he was happy. Now that he talked to us, he talked to us when he was drunk. He'd laugh at my sisters' jokes, which they loved because they were now seven. I, being 10, knew it wasn't really him there. It was my drunk father. So, I separated myself from him when he was drunk. I hated him drunk. I remembered what he was like when withdrew himself, so we had never formed a relationship with each other. He did still talk to me. But, he didn't laugh. Instead, he pinched my stomach and arms and thighs and told me I was chubby. If I was eating a cookie he'd take it and replace it with carrots. He'd make me stand if I was lying on the couch. He signed me up for competitive soccer, just so I'd lose weight. Which, is probably the only thing good he did for me. I was put on a diet. A simple one, like just lean meats, lots of vegetables, fruits, just healthy foods. Did I lose weight? Yes. Did it make him happy? Incredibly. This is also the year I became a vegetarian, made the highest level soccer team for my age group, and discovered proana sites.
Age eleven. I was on a competitive soccer team and was losing weight rapidly thanks to new diets I found on the sites. I guess when you lose too much weight, your father doesn't like it. He called my a twig, gross, and made me put on weight. I guess being deprived from junk food for so long makes you gain weight like crazy. I ballooned up.
Age twelve. I was being called fat again. I tried to stop eating, but I couldn't. I tried exercising more, but I just became exhausted. So, as a last resort, I began throwing up. I did lose weight, and loved it because I could eat whatever I wanted. I got so good at it that I didn't even have to use my hands. I could just make myself.
I did this behavior unknown from seventh to ninth grade. Then, I made the mistake of telling my best friend. She asked me how I could eat so much and stay thin. I had known this girl since fourth grade, so I told her. For some reason I thought it was normal, but I guess she didn't. She freaked. She told her mother, who in turn told my mother. My mother, who had pretty much hated my father for the years that he had been drinking, didn't tell him. She talked to me about how it was bad and could kill me and all of that, but I didn't care. I wanted to stay my weight. But, she convinced me to try to stop. And I did. And I gained, like I knew I would. I went right back to it. She then got more involved in trying to get me to stop. She took my to therapists and doctors and all of that. I pretended to be better.
A year passed, I was 15 and it was summer before tenth grade. Because my mother was monitoring me like crazy, I deciding to stop throwing up. Instead, I didn't eat. I exercised like crazy, and tried to stay out of my house as much as I could. One night after going four days without eating, I was invited to go play man hunt with a bunch of boys. They were pretty much my best friends at the time, and I had a major crush on one of them. When I don't eat, I get extremely flirty. I feel sexy, as my hips and ribs are sticking out. That night I lost my virginity, and have pretty much regretted it ever since. I dated that boy for 4 months before he broke my heart for the first time.
During tenth grade, I didn't play competitive soccer. My parents wouldn't let me. My father found out about my eating disorder. He was angry at me. He had now clue it was his fault. He took me to the other therapists and doctors and was determined to fix me. His daughter couldn't have this problem. At the last therapist, I revealed that it was his fault. It was his alcoholism. It was his words, his doing, his pressure, his fault. He cried, apologized, and searched for help. Do I forgive him? No.
When the boy broke my heart, it sent me into a depression. I didn't eat, didn't sleep, didn't interact at all. It was my "first love" or whatever, so I didn't realize what an ass he was. I got down to my lowest weight of 108, and stayed like that until I was taken to a rehab clinic on a tour. Threatened that I would go there if I didn't stop, I worked to get better. Kind of.
I gained weight just to make them happy. I deleted my blog. When I gained weight they let me quit the therapist and got off my back. It has remained like this until this day.
I got another boyfriend, who controlled me and was basically a little girl and made me feel so guilty about having sex before that I ended up having sex with him, even though I was completely disgusted by him. He told me he'd kill himself if I left him and took up all my time. He tried to get me to graduate a year early because he was a year older, and all this other ridiculous stuff. That basically describes the second have of my sophomore year of high school.
Then, this past summer. I hated my boyfriend and tried to break up with him 5 times in a matter of two weeks. He basically told me no. The last time I told him that I was done we didn't talk for a week, so I figured it was over so I started talking to another boy. We went on a date, and my "boyfriend" found out. He "broke up" with me for "cheating" on him. I was so happy. The new boy and me stated dating.
He's been the best boyfriend I've ever had. We've been dating just over two months and I couldn't be happier with him. We never fight, and are always laughing. He plays soccer as well so I don't feel bad that it always makes me busy. He's from Brazil and speaks fluent Portuguese, which is so sexy. I'm playing soccer again and am getting great grades. The only problem: I can't lose weight. I was up to 144 and then dropped to 135, but I need to lose more. Part of it is that I eat when I have something to hid. I eat when I am pretending to be happy. And, I'm pretending to be happier than I am.
I have a lot, but I want more.
I have high expectations, and I want more.
I'll go into more detail later on. Until then,
Bye,
Cosmos.
