My Greatest Achievement Victoria Galuska

The moon materialized over an hour ago, and I have just consumed enough junk food to nourish several third world countries. My stomach protrudes out three times the norm, and I feel the food rising in my throat. An intense shadow of guilt and frustration overtakes my body because of the thousands of calories I just devoured. I scream at myself in panic, “Just get it over with, you’re revolting.” My heart begins to race, and as always, bulimia makes the decision for me, along with all my other decisions. Like a robot, my legs lead me to the bathroom and into the shower. Tears swell in my eyes, and as the toothbrush scrapes a layer of skin from the roof of my mouth, my body begins to tremble uncontrollably. Catharsis, purgation, false purification, the never-ending routine completes another cycle. For almost four years, this self-hatred cycle of bulimia controlled every aspect of my existence, and left me living a life not my own. Undoubtedly, recovering from bulimia is my biggest accomplishment.

I suppose my journey with an eating disorder began when my body matured through puberty earlier than my peers' did. It was mid-year of eighth grade and while my friends still wore sizes zeroes and ones, I began having to buy sizes...