It's Sham(e) Really

It is an arduous task keeping up pretences; the deceit, the lies, and cunning plans involved are no easy feat. I felt ashamed and scared that somebody would find out that I had relapsed into my old bad behaviours, and so I disguised all of this with a duplicity that was as disturbingly well planned as the operations of a sniper rifleman.

With a wealth of knowledge behind me from ten years of anorexia and bulimia, I familiarised myself with the little tricks of the trade – I became, and am still, an eating disorder connoisseur.

This inside knowledge is categorised in my head (by my OCD personality) into many complex groups and volumes; it is no wonder I feel that there is no room left for real information, or for - God willing - wisdom. And so the knowledge is practiced and manufactured into a secret ritual that I think will never be revealed. Unfortunately, as is often the case, this ‘secret’ is as visible to my family and friends as Paris’s underwear. In the case of being anorexic, my deflated and skeletal body is usually a dead giveaway that I have not, as claimed, been eating toasted cheese and mayonnaise sandwiches every day. Similarly, they will know when I am bingeing and purging, by the taxidermal glaze my eyes get, and yes – the fact that I will have polished off three helpings of dinner, 'have a very weak bladder', and tend to get red faced from my 'smoker's cough.'

The lying and betrayal is one of the hardest parts of this disorder to come to terms with. I value all my relationships - with my boyfriend, friends, colleagues and dysfunctional family members - so dearly that it destroys me when I think how many times I lied about food, and pretended to be well, when in fact I had long since missed the Well Adjusted Express.