I believe my parents are the best support god has giving me. They are always there for me and their love is unconditional. With them I feel protected, encouraged, loved, mad, happy, sad, and all the feelings there could be. Even though we get mad at each other sometimes, we are still together; getting mad it’s not enough to lower our love. My parents are the only ones who will always want the best for me. They have never given their back at me, and every time I fall they are there to lift me up. They were there when I most needed them. My parents proved their unconditional support when they found out I was bulimic.
I was sitting down at the table it was dinner time. It smelled like spicy cheesy enchiladas and they were rolled like skinny tacos and covered with dark red tomato sauce. It was soft and easy to cut. When I took in the first piece of enchilada, it tasted like warm tortilla with spicy tomato sauce and melted cheese. “They were delicious”. I began to eat like if I haven’t eaten for days. There was no time to waste.
I finally finished eating. I looked at my plate and it was full of grease. I couldn’t believe that I had just eaten many enchiladas full of fat calories. “No wander I’m fat,” I reminded myself. My stomach began to feel like if it was about to blow up. I started to feel the calories and fat running through my veins, getting all sticky. It was gross; I could imagine my skin getting all greasy and oily and my waste getting fatter than what it was.
Suddenly I heard my sister laugh. I got scared and jumped, I was so concentrated on how fat I was getting, that I didn’t even pay attention to what they were talking and laughing about. I pretended to know the reason they were laughing and laughed with them. I pretended to be happy, but the truth was that I was mad. I was mad at myself. I was mad at the world and god for making me fat and ugly. I hated my body and anything that I saw in the mirror. The mirror was my worst enemy. It would always show me how horrible my body was, and how vulnerable I really was. It was a torture not being able to see something good and pretty about myself.
I couldn’t handle it any more so I stood up and went to the bathroom. I rushed to the toilet and there I was, about to get rive of the reason I was feeling so obese that night. I put my finger inside my throat; I felt the first push that my stomach made. My eyes got all watery and my face was red. I continued, finally what I was waiting for. A big chunk of smashed, orangey, slimy enchiladas was my view. The smell and taste was not pleasant. I knew that what I have just done was wrong, but the desire of being perfect was stronger than me. I looked at the mirror and I was still not satisfied. I still felt ugly; so I continued and each time my views were different colors. That night I over did the process of making myself through up. I stopped until my stomach had nothing else to throughout.
At midnight my agony began. I had a horrible chest pain, so I stood up and walked to the kitchen to get something that would make the pain go away. I turned on the light and the only thing I could see is everything going in circles. My mom woke up and asked what was wrong. Right before I could answer her I blacked out. When I woke up I was in the emergency room and my parent’s right next to me.
“What is wrong with me?” I asked my mom.
“I don’t know yet the doctor will be here soon to explain everything,” answered my mom.
The doctor came in and called my parents to go outside with them for a moment. My parent left with doctor, I was scared and cold. The room was full of machines and pictures of the human body posted on the wall. It smelled like medicine and it gave a depressing feeling. My parents finally came in. my mom was full of tears.
“What happened? What did the doctor tell you? What is wrong with me?” I begin to ask.
“Why did you do it if you are a beautiful girl?” my dad answered me with a question.
“What are you talking about? I don’t understand,” I asked confusingly.
“The doctor told us that you are bulimic and that u are at risk of not making it,” my dad explained.
“I am sorry I didn’t mean to I don’t want to die, I just wanted to be skinny and pretty like the other girls,” I apologized with tears in my eyes.
My mom couldn’t even talk she wouldn’t stop crying. They both hugged me and we began to cry.
“For how long have you been causing yourself to through up?” my mom asked.
“For seven months?” I sadly answered.
My mom started crying again. I stayed in the hospital for a week, and then my parents took me home. My mom was all the time besides me. Whenever I would go to the restroom she would go in there with me to make sure I wasn’t doing it again. It was hard for me to keep the food and not vomiting it back out. With my parents help and support I was able to overcome that challenge.
My parents proved their unconditional support when they found out I was bulimic. They never left my side and they encouraged and helped me to feel good about myself. For this reason I believe my
Parents are the best support god has giving me. Now I am able to look in the mirror and see a lot of positive things about myself. The mirror is now considered my friend; my parents made me understand and know that my life is more valuable than looks and appearance. Don’t love your body, love yourself.