I grew up in a house that enjoyed food. We always tried new recipes, always went all out with baking during holidays and birthdays, and I was taught to be grateful for having the means to obtain any type of nutritious food I wanted. I guess I'd be dubbed as one of the last people on Earth who would develop any sort of eating disorder. I loved food, I loved my body, and I despised feeling a gnawing hunger. I also despised throwing up. I used to. I'll be honest; I always felt a little annoyed with people who had eating disorders, because they relentlessly maintained the idea that they were overweight, when in reality, they're often quite thin. Don't get me wrong- I understand that it's a mental disorder as much (or more) as it is a physical disorder...but I always thought that mental issues were flimsy and fickle. People seem to cling to their disorders during rough times, yet when life starts brightening up, these disorders strangely recess into the back of the mind until another breakdown or binge or fallout.

So, I was almost 17, flying through my last year of high school with perfect scores, looking forward to college and being free. Then I went to a party where I overindulged in pizza and alcohol. I felt disgustingly sick to my stomach after my second piece, and so I slipped into a restroom and vomited up the pizza to relieve my stomach ache. It relieved me for the most part, and I felt extremely good. But I had a different sort of breakthrough that most people don't experience while vomiting after a night of binge drinking and eating. I felt better than good, I felt as if I'd risen from the ashes and cleaned my body of some sort of poison. The poison was probably the alcohol, but I soon began to associate food with poison, too.

I kept in mind that food was good, that we need it to survive, and that it keeps us glowing and healthy and happy. So I continued to eat as I normally would, enjoying three healthy meals per day, sometimes satisfying a sweet tooth or rewarding myself with junk food. But after each meal, I'd slam my toothbrush into my throat and wiggle at mt gag reflex, throwing it all up. It was so perfect. I continued to feel full and gratified, but at the same time I also felt clean, empty, and in control of food.

I'm still struggling with this problem, but I've never let it get the best of my mental state. It's like a small personality quirk or an ill-acquired habit. To me, it's not a deadly disorder, and I've never viewed it as such. I think that's why no one has figured it out yet. I've never been caught, nor have I ever felt any need to express to anyone these feelings I associate with food. I think I will die one day in the near future directly because of this "quirk" and it will take me, along with everyone who has ever known me, by surprise.